


A New Anti-Hero

by Rancid_Rat6186



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Actually Foggy isn't just mentioned anymore, Alcoholism, Blood Loss, Cutting, Elektra Nachios (mention), F/M, Female Anti-Hero, Foggy Nelson (mention) - Freeform, Frank Castle (mention) - Freeform, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson - Freeform, Gen, He's a full on main character in this story now, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Karen Page (mention) - Freeform, Matt Murdock & Foggy Nelson Friendship, Matt Murdock Angst, Matt is slowly losing himself, Matt stitching people up, New Female Vigilante, Panic Attacks, Self-Destructive Behavior, Self-Harm, Stick and the Hand (mention), Trauma, hearing loss, suicidal behavior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 14:18:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 58,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8449531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rancid_Rat6186/pseuds/Rancid_Rat6186
Summary: A new presence emerges in Hell's Kitchen, one Matt can't seem to get a grasp on, and he's already shaky keeping a grasp on himself, on his sanity.





	1. Losing His Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after Daredevil Season 2. 
> 
> Not sure where this is gonna go, but seemed like it would be fun to write. 
> 
> I'll add more things once I actually figure them out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He lacked sleep, and food, and a job, and...friends. He was still reeling in the loss of Elektra. His usually focused mind found wondering, lost and muddled in nightmares, in moments he could feel himself spiraling away from who he used to think he was.

Matt breathed in the dying moments of the night, before midnight took the last parts of the day away. Soft summer breezes whistled in the space between his mask and his cheeks. The wind was always a bit cooler up on the rooftops. There was something soothing to him, being up high on the roofs, overlooking the city landscape he can't actually see anymore. The cloudless sky above him let the city breathe freely, its first stormless night in over a week. A small part of Matt always cringed at the way clouds would muffle the life that damn near oozed from every space the city could muster, even down to the cracked cemented sidewalks and the subway cars undeneath them, crashing against metal, sparking rails. He could hear so much tonight, even on the far edge of the city. 

He focused in to the warehouse below his feet. Nearly two dozen hearts beat erratically between his ears. He counted them each, carefully, setting the last few details of his plan into place. He had been tracking these men for almost 3 months now. Weapons and drugs. Seemingly becoming the norm in Hell's Kitchen. He had been fairly busy over the course of those 3 months, spending just about every night wearing the suit, and consequently, spending just about every day trying to let his body heal. 

It never really worked. 

He lacked sleep, and food, and a job, and...friends. He was still reeling in the loss of Elektra. His usually focused mind found wondering, lost and muddled in nightmares, in moments he could feel himself spiraling away from who he used to think he was. 

The moment he felt Elektra's heart beat for the last time. 

The moment he lost his grasp on his strict Catholic beliefs to refuse killing any living person and tossed Nobu off of that rooftop.

The moment he let Frank kill all of those ninjas surrounding him and found himself at peace with his actions. 

The moment he pulled Karen into his secret, exposing her to newer threats than the ones he already had. 

The moment he walked out of that run down office space, abandoning the fizzling dream of their own firm and the last broken remains of his friendship with Foggy. 

He let the wind wash over him, letting it push away those moments. He needed to focus. 

'20 heartbeats. 20.' 

He swung quietly through the open skylight, landing softly on the metal rafters just underneath. Focusing back to the overall layout now that he was within the walls, he made his way down the industrial structures, landing gracefully on the cement ground. 

His first few punches landed exactly where he intended them to be, knocking 2 of the 3 men out. The 3rd man stumbled onto the concrete ground. Matt kept forward momentum, closing the distance between himself and the, now, grounded man; until a rush of air, body temperature, a strange humming, and finally, the steadiest of heartbeats that went hidden however many moments before stole a second of his focus, just enough for the man on the ground to pull himself back up to his feet and counterstrike. The right hook to his jaw sent a shot of pain to the familiar space behind his eyes. He knew there would be the ever present slight headache tomorrow because of it. 

Shaking the fresh ache away, he was suddenly aware of another presence beside him. Their footsteps were too soft, barely leaving traces of anywhere they touched. There was an exhale, but that was the only part of them he could track. His mood flooded, panic biting at his bones, paralyzing him in place. 

The Hand. 

They had learned that he could track their heart beats and their weapons. They learned to hide themselves from him. It was only until Stick was being tortured, whispering to Matt through the walls, telling him to listen to them breathing. 

Matt clung to that instruction for dear life right now, desperately searching for that faint exhale again, buried somewhere in the barrage of groans, grunts and grimaces of the men still outnumbering him. 

He could taste the metal coming towards him before he had the chance to react, still frozen in place. His mind was clouding with the night on that rooftop, when he told Elektra he would run away with her, give everything for her, and then losing everything moments later. His mouth dried and his heart raced. 

'Get your shit together Murdock. This is not the time for another one of your fucking breakdowns.'

Not even a moment later, the familiar sound of a bone breaking rattled through his ears. Whoever this presence was had just broken the man's arm, the one charging at him with the knife, sending them to the ground with a yelp that was quickly silenced with an unseemingly, yet very powerful kick to the side of the mans head, knocking him unconscious before he even finished collapsing to the ground. 

"You just gonna stand and watch, or you wanna tag back in?" 

He focused in. Female. In her twenties. Smaller than him. The air broke around under his chin. She couldn't stand more than 5'3". Hair pulled under a hood of a sweatshirt. A faint humming echoed in the fabric of the hood that Matt couldn't place, couldn't identify. But, her heart, it was too quiet, to calm. Her breathing barely broke the air currents around them. 

It set him on edge. 

He waivered on that ledge for a little too long, allowing another man to lunge towards him with another knife. The girl pushed Matt out of the way, swinging her fists in a way that Matt could sense an old school boxing style to her fighting, even narrowing down her south paw stance. 

'I can tell what hand she punches with, but I couldn't hear her fucking heartbeat. You're really starting to lose it here Matty.' 

Matt's rage finally burned to life in his gut, scorching across his bones and muscles, lurching him forward to attack, sending 10 men to the ground in unconscious heaps within minutes. 

He could feel the smirk crawl across the girl's face. His rage burned hotter, more fierce. He wanted to take the girl and throw her over that edge he was damn near falling off of, to see if that would make her heartbeat pound in his ears. His hands shook as he kneeled over one of the men, punching out all of his frustrations to the mans face, grinning devilishly as he felt the bones crumble beneath his fists. 

Then, along comes another asshole with a knife, that Matt had been too lost in his own mind to notice. 

'Like her fucking heartbeat.' 

It wasn't until he heard the distinct sound of flesh spreading apart from itself, the sting of copper filling the back of his throat, the warmth of the blood pouring out washing over him. 

She had thrown herself in between him and the last man with the knife. The man had managed to shove the knife just past her ribcage, slicing down to her waist. She flung her fists weakly at the man, refusing to go down without an actual fight. The man pulled back, setting his closed fist by his ear, releasing it to connect to the jawline on the girl. The thud of her body on the cement floor reawokened Matt. 

His rage turned to blind fury, ending with the last conscious man begging for any kind of mercy. 

The devil in Matt smiled, blood dripping from the side of his mouth. He knew there was no such thing anymore, especially with him.


	2. A Long Walk Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hated to admit it to himself, but a small part of him almost wished she had let him take the knife to his gut. 
> 
> Maybe, just maybe, it would have broken up the sinking feeling he carried around with him.

Matt's nerves stretched underneath his skin, still so on edge, feeling the vibrations pulsing off of the unconscious body in his arms. He knew it was his fault the girl, this woman, was bleeding and knocked out, protecting him. He hated to admit it to himself, but a small part of him almost wished she had let him take the knife to his gut. 

Maybe, just maybe, it would have broken up the sinking feeling he carried around with him. 

He knew he was slipping. He knew he was falling, faster and more dangerously into this secret life, secret identity he had created. At first, just after everything slipped from his fingers, he scrambled through his day to day, flailing and failing to keep himself steady. Now, almost a year later, Matt only seemed to pulsate with that same white hot rage that came from buried deep within himself. 

He was barely surviving, hell bent on a path of both outward and inward destruction. He stopped reaching out to Claire after she continuously remarked at the hollow look on his face, the way his skin stretched too tightly against his bones. His meals consisted of cheap whiskey and aspirin, occassionally managing a tasteless protein bar. The suit that once fit snug to his muscles now hung loosely against his skin. His skin had become a poorly colored mash up of yellow and purple bruises. 

The tiny piece of him that somehow managed to still feel tore at him as he adjusted the small weight in his arms. Her heart beat pulsed calmly against his chest. It felt like a scream in his ears compared to the softness of it when she was, well, conscious. He had no problem letting himself stumble down this path of darkness and despair, but he still wanted to help people, protect them. And here he had gone and gotten someone hurt, someone that was actually helping him, protecting him. 

'Good job with that one, Matt. Way to go.' 

He could feel the blood from her side start to seep into his suit. He pulled her in tighter, hoping the pressure would help ease the bleeding. Her body temperature had dropped at least 5 degrees by the time they reached his apartment, crawling quickly through the roof access. 

He carefully laid her on his couch, pulling her jacket off, dumping it to the floor. Her breathing had slowed, and he wasn't sure if it was from her being unconscious, her infuriating little trick of hers, or that she was losing too much blood. If this was a year ago, Matt probably could have been able to tell easily. Now, he could barely make sense of up it seemed. Her heart was still a noticeable beat, slowing becoming familiar to his ears. He seemed to understand if he could hear it well enough, she had to still be unconscious. 

He was still trying to rap his head around that. He could feel the anger bubble in the pit of his stomach, threatening to move its way to his head, muddle all of his senses completely. He still couldn't place what it was that this stranger did to him, but it was burning him to his core. 

He figured he would have time to come back to that later as the metallic taste of her blood flooded against the air. The knife wound to her side started to bleed again, much worse than it had been on the walk back to his apartment. Her smaller than him frame had already lost a decent amount of blood. He swallowed down his anger, trying to focus on the stranger on his couch. Her blood had reached through her shirt to the cushion below her. 

Before this life of his, before this side of him truly started to take over, he would have put a towel down, found some way to protect the fabric layers of his couch. But, after so many times he had found himself in the same spot this random girl was now in, after so much of his own blood is probably soaked through to the bottom of the cushions...Matt stopped caring that much about it. 

Deciding against keeping his mask on, he made his way to his kitchen, where he kept his first aid kit. And his whiskey. The night had taken such unusual turns that keeping his mask on was really the last thing Matt worried about, not that Matt had really found himself caring all that much anymore if someone found out about him. There was no one left in his life to protect anymore. Anyone he had loved and cared for had left him. He, honestly, stopped trying to keep them there anyways. 

'It's for the best. You deserve better than this, better than me.' 

Crouching down on the coffee table in front of the couch, Matt opened the first aid kit. He leaned forward, pulling her shirt up past her rib cage, exposing the full length of the wound. Reaching from the bottom of her right ribs and curving to just above her right hip bone, he could sense the wound was deep enough to need a close eye for a while, but without anything vital hit. His quick scan to the rest of her body showed a few bruises to her legs, variously healing scrapes to both of her hands and knuckes, a split bottom lip and an already darkening bruise to her jawline, the one that knocked her out. 

Then, there it was again, that strange humming sound. 

'Where the fuck was that coming from.'

He leaned forward. The sound was coming from her head, from either side. He slowly reached out, tracing softly at the closest ear. A rubbery plastic filled the shape of her ear, reaching over the top, attaching to a small plastic piece resting there, where the humming was originating. When his fingers touched the plastic base, a squeal of feedback startled him, withdrawing his fingers abruptly. 

'Hearing aids?' 

He let out a subtle huff of surprise before returning back to the wound on her abdomen. There were definitely a few new questions he had forming for this stranger on his couch. He took a long, too long, swig off of the whiskey bottle, relishing in the blend of burn and warmth that spread down him. A few more of those too long swigs and he could pretend to numb himself off from the world again. 

'Fuck. Pay attention. This is your fault, Murdock. You can drink your sorry ass to shit later.'

Focusing back on her breathing, hoping she stayed asleep for this, he pulled the needle and thread from the first aid kit and got to work. 

As he was more than halfway down her abdomen, stitching with near perfect precision, he was suddenly aware of only his own heartbeat. The quiet was unsettling. He could finally feel the following gaze of a pair of eyes, watching his every movement. On instinct, a dull thought scratched at his mind that he should have kept his mask on. 

Another swig of whiskey blotted that fleeting thought right out. 

It, however, added some unneccessary fuel to that bubbling anger in his belly. He was suddenly, harshly aware that he hadn't noticed the change in her heartbeat, the change in her breathing. Her heart had quieted to an eery whisper. Her breathing was slow and steady, despite the needle poking through her raw flesh, over and over again. 

The anger boiled to his throat. The rush of memories from the night Elektra died seered into him. He could feel his nerves vibrate with too much intensity for what he was doing. He forced himself to breathe, focusing on keeping his hands steady.

Reminding himself that Elektra was dead and The Hand had nearly been wiped out, courtesy of Frank Castle, and this woman on his couch was not some assassin ninja. 

With each stitch he placed, he still couldn't get that feeling completely away from him. 

It was really starting to bug the shit out of him. 

"How do you do that?" 

He couldn't keep all of the annoyance from his voice, never having liked being stared at. He could feel her eyes tracing over the side of his face again. He couldn't hear any change in her heart rate to sense her emotion, which was irritating him even more, even as he stuck the needle through her skin with a little more force than needed. 

Still no change. 

His throat was burning with his anger now. 

"Do what?"

Her tone finally gave him some insight. She, truthfully, had no idea what he meant. 

"Keep your breathing so even, keep your heart rate so calm." 

He wished he could take the words back as soon as they left his mouth. His irritation and hair trigger anger had caused him a lack of composure, especially to one of his "abilities" that he tends to avoid sharing. People tend to react, well, less than enthusiastically when they learn he can hear their heart beats, and uses it frequently. 

No change in her heart rate, though. Interesting.

"How do you do THAT?" 

She emphasized the word 'that', indicating to Matt that she was referring to him stitching her up. This was another one of those questions he had gotten so used to answering that it just rolled off of his tongue with very little emotion behind it.

"Had enough practice over the years." 

He tied off the last stitch, cutting the loose thread away. 

"That's not what I meant."

He stopped, fresh gauze hovering just above the suture line. Without his mask on, he knew his eyes were probably unfocused on what he was doing. But, his head had been lowered, leaning over her. This woman couldn't have possibly seen the detatched, far off gaze his eyes made. His movements had become flawless and refined after all these years that even those that were closest to him sometimes forgot he was blind. 

He pressed the gauze against her skin. That can't be what she was talking about. 

How could he be so careless with his actions? How can she read him this well when he can't even get a half-assed grasp on her? Who the hell was this girl? Why hadn't she been the least bit put off that she was almost bleeding out on a strange man's couch? 

"Well, what was it you meant, then?" 

He didn't even try to hide his annoyance now. He ripped the tape, placing it awkwardly over her skin, the shakiness from his rising anger and whiskey dinner starting to settle in. Her hands reached up to his, gently taking the tape from his hands. He could barely detect her movements, just the subtle shifting of fabric before there were cooled fingers on his skin. 

His heart pounded in his chest. He sat back, letting his mind swim frantically, muddled from the sloshing whiskey in his stomach, the alcohol now reaching his nerves, his senses. 

Had he gotten hurt and hadn't noticed until now? Why couldn't he hear this girl? Did he get hit in the head? Was he losing his hearing again?

'How fucking rich...losing your fucking hearing again so you can freak out in front of the deaf chick.' 

He pushed his senses out in front of him, testing each one. The smell of copper, both fresh and old mixing in the fabric below them both. The vibrations through his boots, through his floorboards as his downstairs neighbors argued. The buzzing of the billboard outside his large living room window. The soft humming from either side of her head. The click of the traffic lights changing colors down the street. A homeless man digging through a dumpser around the corner. 

He finally caught his breath. His hearing was fine. 

Now, he was just pissed. 

He always prided himself on being smart, figuring things out easily. His father was always in awe of him for that. Foggy was always a funny mix of awestruck and playfully annoyed by it. Matt always just shrugged it off. But, deep down, he enjoyed that part of himself, being a 'clever little shit'. 

Her eyes focused on her abdomen, taping carefully around the fresh pieces of gauze he had place. He was taken back slightly at the fact that she hadn't inspected his work, and so quickly trusted in what he did. But, then again, he has no idea how long she had been watching him. His anger boiled again. 

"What did you mean?" 

He was becoming more irritated that she had taken that moment to suddenly decide to stop talking. He had entirely forgotten that she never answered his question from earlier. 

"The blind thing." 

She said it so nonchalantly, not even breaking her concentration from dressing her wound, that that even irritated him. He tried washing the taste of anger from his tongue. 

He scoffed. 

"The blind thing? What makes you think I'm blind?" 

She ripped a last piece of tape from the roll, adhering the last side of the gauze pad to her skin. 

"You're not all that subtle about it." 

'What? Is she fucking serious? In the suit, no one even knows.' 

The anger was spilling out from behind his teeth. 

"What's with the deaf thing? Pretty sure those things in your ears squealing don't make it easy for you to lurk in the shadows and be some invisible little shit." 

Her heart did something he wasn't expecting, a sharp flutter before settling back down to its softened sound. He smirked, more to himself than for her. He was finally getting the upper hand in this imaginary game they were playing. 

"Not deaf, but kudos for the assumption there guy. Glad to know your hands are more delicate than your bedside manner." 

Well, apparently, he wasn't getting the upper hand...

Shit. It always took him by surprise when someone had a quicker, sharper mouth than him. 

"Pretty sure you referenced someone's disability as a 'thing', real delicate yourself there sunshine. And...really! You can't give me shit for going with that assumption...hearing aids usually go along with that kind of 'thing'." 

She wasted no time.

"Well...funny thing. When you're deaf, you can't hear. But...I CAN actually hear, dumbass. Even without my ears in. I just can't hear WELL." 

He knew that. Fuck, he knew that. His teeth chattered, holding his boiling over temper within him for as long as he could. 

"Gonna answer my question from before?"

"What one? I wasn't paying attention. Your blind 'thing' was kind of interesting to watch." 

He ground his teeth. The muscles in his jaw even flinched at the pressure.

"How did you keep your breathing so even." 

He left out the thing about the heart this time.

"Oh, and how I kept my heart rate so calm too, right?"

The little shit. 

"Yeah. That." He half grumbled. 

He could feel the smirk pull at the side of her mouth. He could feel his pulse racing under his skin. He wasn't entirely sure she couldn't feel it either, at this rate. 

"Had enough practice over the years."

Now, she was just recycling his words, and barely answering any questions. He couldn't even control the overdramatic sigh that escaped his mouth, even though it sounded more like a growl than a sigh. 

When he could feel his muscles twitching with rage, he grabbed the nearly empty bottle of whiskey, finishing it off in one last gulp, making his way into his bedroom to change out of his suit. He let his focus stay on her breathing, on her heart beat. It kept its steady rhythm and he still couldn't figure out if she had finally fallen asleep, or was just toying with his senses. 

Hell, he couldn't figure her out at all. 

Throwing on a pair of sweatpants, he grabbed another pair and an old tshirt of his, angrily rolling it into a ball, walking out and dropping it by the side of the couch where her head laid. He quickly made his way back into his bedroom, forgetting about the door, and throwing himself against the soft sheets. His mind stormed as he retraced the evening, falling asleep with his anger still bubbling inside of him. 

She smirked again, watching him toss and turn restlessly, before she finally let herself drift off. 

'He's fun'.


	3. This Is Real Though, Right?

The warmth of the morning sun woke him almost peacefully from sleep. His body, surprisingly, wasn't aching the way it usually had been as of late. He swung his legs over the side of his bed, letting his bare feet steady themselves on the cool, wooden surface. He actually felt rested. Months had slipped by him before now, mostly filled with his uneasy restlessness. The thought of him having actually just gotten a few hours of sleep baffled him. 

His apartment was too noticeably silent. 

His couch was empty, pooled blood dried deep into the fibers, mixing with all of his that he had spilled over the years. His balled up clothes still sat on the floor. The first aid kit sit sprawled across the coffee table. The dirty gauze had been cleaned away. 

His apartment was too calmly silent. 

A distant memory stung in the back of his mind. 

'Not like I would actually be able to tell if she was even here...' Her and her tricky fucking heart. Her and her steady fucking breathing. Her and her smug fucking smirk. Her and those stupid fucking ears...humming him softly to sleep...

"Hello?"

His apartment was too painfully silent. 

\-------

Weeks passed by. Days and nights blurring into one another. Matt fell back into his routine of whiskey, insomnia and recklessness. The fleeting memories of the stranger on his couch seemed to fizzle out before him. His mind muddled in his own self-destruction, attacking anyone without any sense of a plan anymore, outnumbering himself almost on purpose. 

The few punches and kicks he let slip and connect with him only charged his constant state of edge. He had almost become numb to the stings of the punches, the screaming hiss his skin would make when a knife would find its way through his tattering suit. He had been meaning to get it patched up... 

He could feel, with every fight, his body desperately wanting to give out, to give in. His muscles would shake. His bones would rattle beneath his skin, some pleading in protest that he refused to let them heal properly before. His skin stretching even tighter across his ribs, his body compensating and wearing away at what he left of fat in his body, stealing from his muscles. He wasn't sure of the last crumb of food he even managed past his lips, let alone an actual, decent meal. His eyes were constantly burning, sleep begging for a moment from them, but he always refused them that. 

The last time he had slept, was when the stranger was on his couch, with her too quiet heartbeat and her too steady breathing, and her too calming humming from her ears, and the way she sunk into the lining just under his skin and pushed him back on his heels without warning, and the way her blood mixed so poetically with his, buried deep in the fibers of his couch, and the way he managed to find peace and rest with her just steps away from him, and the way....

He couldn't sleep. That's where she...that's where Elektra lived. That's where he can't push away the feeling of her dying in his arms. So, he kept himself steady, reckless and unsteady, with bottle after bottle after bottle of whiskey, just about entirely numb to the burn it used to have in his throat. He was numb to it all. He was barely even stumbling through life. 

He was always surprised when his heart kept beating on, no matter how much his mind screamed to make it stop. 

Make it stop.  
Like hers.  
In his arms.  
Protecting him.  
Sacrificing herself.  
For him.  
Her heart.  
His heart.

His mind clouds over, unsure where reality and his nightmare divided. He finds himself square in the center of another abandoned warehouse just outside of the city. He's not sure that's entirely where he is right now, either.

'They really need to stop picking these shitty old warehousee. They're making it too easy to find them now.' He's still not too fucking sure he's awake right now. 

He counted 17 heartbeats, but, then again, who the fuck really knows anymore. 

As the first man approaches, Matt lets the mans fist connect just under his nose, spilling blood across Matt's lips. These are the parts of his nightmares he finds comfort in. 

'But, this is real though. Right?' 

Matt's mind flooded with copper, sending him back into his black out rage, demanding too much of his body. But, he pushes. He pushes beyond what he's capable of anymore. 

But, it's okay. 

He's not really awake. 

He twists and turns and feels his body connect with them all. He feels his reckless abandon take him over, wash over his heavily beaten and bruised skin. 

'I'm asleep now, aren't I?'

The world didn't exist to him anymore. 

It hadn't in a long time. 

\-----------

Steady hands gently pulled back on his closed fist. He was straddling one of the 17 men on the ground, all unconscious now, fists connecting to a slightly, no mostly unrecognizable place a face used to be. 

He went too far.

Again. 

'But, this is real though, right?'

The soft touch against his wrist steeled him in his position. The sensation bringing to life his every nerve. 

"Elektra?"

'I'm asleep, aren't I?'

His head ached, just now noticing the different places blood was dripping out and away from him. His adrenaline fueled fury was fading away, his breath slowing, catching in sudden shocks of shooting pain, distinct twinges of broken ribs. 

This.  
This is real.  
Right??

He tried to hear it. Tried to breathe in a scent. He couldn't hear it. 

He couldn't hear any heartbeats. 

They all stopped. 

This.  
Is.  
Real.  
Right????

He couldn't hear his own.  
It had finally stopped.  
Just like hers.  
His heart finally gave out.  
His heart finally gave in.  
He finally didn't have to fight anymore. 

'This is real, though. I can sleep now...right?'

It just stopped. 

Everything just stopped. 

Everything just....


	4. If Only They Could See Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world hit him.
> 
> It hit him with such a violent rush that it knocked the air from his lungs, the air he had been so frantically trying to pull in.
> 
> He wanted to scream. 
> 
> No. He HAD been screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to see how far down I can push Matt before someone coming along to rescue him... He should become somewhat human in the next chapter. 
> 
> And possibly find out about this random girl. 
> 
> I think.

Thum-thump.  
Thum-thump.   
Thum-thump.

The air tasted sour around him. Wind cursed at his nerves within his exposed skin. Bodies vibrated all around him, silent, invisible almost to his every sense. Their footsteps surrounding him, enclosing him, trapping him. His lungs heaved from deep in his chest, forcing out the breath he had been clinging to. Salted fear burned in the back of his throat. His heart pounded beneath the frail cage of his bruising and breaking ribs. Soft hair melted from between his fingertips. A familiar scent stung his nose. 

Her scent. 

Her voice broke through the echoeing silence. 

"You did this to me, Matthew. You did this." 

His words bled into the lining of his throat. He couldn't get them out. He wanted to scream. His whole body lurched. He wanted to scream. 

"You brought me to this. You brought me to them. You are filled with so much darkness. I can see it all now." 

He wanted to scream. 

The weight of his bones cementing him to that rooftop. His skin boiling him from the inside out. His lungs collapsing under his failing breaths. His heart pumping the sludge his blood had turned through his veins, choking the life from him. His throat spat dust, words disintegrating along his drying tongue. 

He wanted to scream. 

Her heart pounded so loudly in his head. He tried to cover his ears, tried squeezing his hands across the bones in his skull. 

Her heart pounded so violently in his chest. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. 

"I loved you Matthew. And you killed me." 

He felt his heart stop when hers did. He felt the pain sear into his skin. He felt the life drain from his veins. He felt the air still all around him, suffocating him in the silence she left. 

He wanted to scream. 

\--------------------

The world hit him. 

It hit him with such a violent rush that it knocked the air from his lungs, the air he had been so frantically trying to pull in. 

He wanted to scream. 

No. He HAD been screaming. He had been screaming for god knows how long. His throat pleading with him, cracking under the raw yelps barely tumbling out from behind his teeth. 

It took him another god knows how long before he could convince his body to calm himself to at least a dull whimper. His entire body shook, shivering beneath the layer of sweat coating over his skin, soaking into the soft sheets around him. 

His sheets.  
His bed.   
His apartment. 

'When did I get back to my apartment?' 

His face twitched, the weeks old stubble pulling under tape across his cheek. Stitches pulled along the back of his arm as he tried to pry himself from the comfort of his bed. 

He tried to listen for Claire's heartbeat. 

Silence.

He tried to listen for Foggy's.   
Karen's.   
Hell, even Frank's.

Silence.

A small part of him had been hopeful a familiar heartbeat would be there. But, he damaged every last fiber any of those relationships clung to months and months ago. He's not even sure any of them would truly notice if he finally wound up dead. 

Would save Claire the headache of middle of the night phone calls.   
Foggy wouldn't have to care about the news mentioning the 'whack job in the mask' anymore.   
Karen could go on with her life and not have some asshole pretending to be a part of her life but lie every chance he could get.   
And I'm sure Frank would be more than thrilled to not have some 'Altar Boy' getting in the way and preaching all the time to him. 

'Ha. If only they could fucking see me now.' 

His mind wandered back to his apartment. The silence screamed at him. He pulled his knees into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around them. He didn't even care that he could feel the fresh stitches in his arm pull and break free from his skin, letting blood seep back out of him. He rocked. And rocked. And rocked. Trying to pulse the panic away. He tried to steady his floundering heartbeat, tried to settle his chaotic nerves. 

His mind sped between his nightmare and his patchy reality in front of him. He barely felt the vibrations from his own bones as the murmors flooded away from him. 

"This is real. This is real. This is real. This is real. I'm awake. This is real. She's not real. This is real. I'm awake. I'm awake. This is real. This is real." 

His body screamed against itself, his muscles tearing at the tight coil he had wrapped himself into. He had no way of knowing how long he had been in that position, mumbling to himself in his always darkness. His senses too jagged to paint a distorted picture for himself. He knew his surroundings. They were his. But, tonight, he couldn't recognize anything around him. Just the soft sheets below his fading weight. 

"This is real. This is real. This is real. This is real. This is real. This is..."

\----------------------------

Warm hands softly pulled at his arm. A soft heartbeat pulsed beneath the fingertips. They were so gentle. They were so quiet. 

So quiet.

Humming came from above him. 

He knew that sound.  
That sound protected him somehow.  
That sound had saved him before.  
That sound helped him find rest.

Whose hands were these? They were so warm... He was so cold. Why was he so cold? 

The world was too much around him. 

He listened for the humming.   
He got lost in its soothing sound. 

Warm hands pulled at his arm, and he pulled them closer to him, pulling the humming closer, fading back into his darkness


	5. It Was Her Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt's breath caught in his throat. He tried sucking air gasps of air. The dust around his barely moved in apartment clung to the staleness coating his throat. His lips cracked, dry and bleeding. His tongue felt too big for his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this seems a little all over the place. It was kind of intentional...to sort of bring Matt's spiraling mind into focus. 
> 
> The next one has a lot more talking, a lot less of Matt FULL on panicking, and finally some insight into who this girl is and why she is helping Matt...

Matt's breath caught in his throat. He tried sucking air gasps of air. The dust around his barely moved in apartment clung to the staleness coating his throat. His lips cracked, dry and bleeding. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. 

But, beneath his arms, pulled in tightly, was a warmth he hadn't remembered pulling into himself. His nose buried within the soft, clumped strands of a messy ponytail, resting just above a soft skinned neck. The scent was subtle, barely there, smelling like morning breezes and salty ocean waves. Almost silent breaths escaped in sync with a quiet heartbeat, pulsing under his arms wrapped across a chest. 

A woman's chest. 

'What. The. Fuck.'

He didn't do this. Bring women back to his apartment...to his bed. Not since...not since...

He sure as shit didn'tcling to them as though he was slipping, sliding off of the Earth's rounded corners, plummeting into the black vastness of time and space. He pried his fingers away from themselves, peeling away the vice grip he locked this woman's body into. His feet landed on the floor beside his bed in one fluid motion that left the woman in his bed startled and breathing sharply, heart pulsating violently. 

She was scared.

He scared her. 

"Hey, whoa." 

Her voice was soft, calming. Humming echoed in his ears. He tried to chase the sound. Her breathing slowed. Her heartbeat beat frantically. He lost his grip on the humming from her ears.

'No. That's wrong. This is wrong. All wrong.'

"This isn't real."

His voice croaked, barely squeaking the words out. His fists clenched at his sides. 

Her breathing faltered, stuttering into silence, her heart racing again.

'No. This is wrong. Her heartbeat is wrong. I did this. I did this. This is my fault. Everything is my fault. Everyone will die because of me.' 

He brought a fist up, letting his skin connect against the side of his head. His feet stumbled beneath him, almost unprepared against his own momentum. 

'Make it stop. Please. Just...stop. I just want to wake up.' 

He brought his fist up again, letting all of his strength bury into the nerves just above his temple. The jolt broke the tears over the edges of his eyes, scalding his skin. Another fist. Then another. And another. And another.

Skin against fabric as she climbed off of the bed. Her hands trembled out in front of her. 

"Hey...hey...whoa. Let's just...hey...shhh..."

He could barely hear her. The pounding in his skull reverberated inside of his skin. Her warm skin softly touched his arm, trying to still him where he stood. 

Blinding panic slid back over him at her touch. His hand gripped across her arm. She was so small compared to him. His grasp gripped tighter, and he could hear the bones shifting under her skin. He waited to hear her beg to stop. He needed someone to feel the pain building in his bones. She stayed silent. 

The ache burned from deep inside of his stomach, churning. The panic froze him over, sending a heat of fury from within. His closed hand bent her arm backward. His other clenched fist connected across her eye socket, cracking the faintest line into it. Her soft footsteps stumbled back. She fell gracefully to the floorboards below. 

"Stop. Hey!"

His toes curled, gripping him into place. 

'No. This is wrong. This isn't real. I need to wake up. I need to wake up.'

\-------------------------

The cool tile was soothing against his skin. The sting of copper filled his nose, nearly gagging him. Cool, sharp edges pierced his hand gripping closed at his side. 

He was slumped against the floor in his bathroom. 

He doesn't remember how he got here. 

The useless mirror he once had gotten for his bathroom years ago was now in pieces all around him on the floor. The large shard in his hand broke into his skin across his palm, blood pooling into the grout around him. 

Muffled shouting and pounding echoed faintly in the small space. He tried to listen, tried to focus. His body was too tired.

He was just too tired. 

His eyes fluttered closed just as he felt warm hands wrap gently around his wrists. A soft smile broke across his dried lips as a soft humming soothed him back into sleep. 

\---------------------------

The familiar scent of his couch filled his nose. His face buried deep into one of his pillows from his bed. His left hand stung, wrapped in gauze. The side of his head protested with his consciousness. The pounding on his apartment door wasn't helping. 

Foggy's voice picked at his nerves. 

"Matt! Open up!"

'If I just lay here...maybe he'll go away. God, please.'

Soft footsteps broke across the steps from the roof access, leading towards the door. Before Matt could even protest, he could hear the turning of the old metal doorknob to his door. 

"Matty, c'mon open up. I got your text, so I know you're..."

Matt sits up, too quickly. His entire body protests. He sinks back down into the cushions, coiling back into himself as tight as he could manage. He had words to say about whoever this girl was sending text messages from him phone, but any rational thought hurt too much to form. 

Foggy choked, stuttering his words when the door opened abruptly. 

"Oh, uhm, hey sorry. Is uhm...hey, I'm Fog. No, that's not right...Foggy. Yeah! Uhm. Is...err...that guy that lives here...uhm..."

Matt used up what little strength he had left inside his hollowed chest, forcing his voice to reach Foggy's not so sensitive ears.

"Hi Foggy."

A relieved smile broke across foggys face as he let himself in. Dropping his jacket on the table just past the door, finding his composure, he turned back to the girl.

"Sorry, let me try that again. Hi. I'm Foggy."

He held out his hand for her. Matt's ears perked up. To this point, he still did not know this girl's name. The girl took Foggy's hand easily, shaking twice. 

"Hi Foggy. Tilly."

"Tilly, huh? What kind of name is that?"

"Says the one who calls himself Foggy..."

"It's a nickname. It's actually Franklin...but..."

"Maybe mine's a nickname too."

"Is it...like short for something?"

"No."

Matt could feel the smirk curling at the side of her mouth. He wasn't sure why, but he caught himself smirking too.

Tilly led the short distance back to the couch. She laid a soft hand onto Matt's hunched shoulder, leaving it there for a moment. 

"Your lug is right here on the couch."

After finding out her name, Matt had started to fade, tuning both of them out of his consciousness. It wasn't until she laid her hand on his shoulder that the realization hit him like a thousand punches he had been too numb to feel lately. It wasn't until he could feel her soft heartbeat in her fingertips, pulsating from her skin to his, blaring through the layers of fabric between them both. 

It was her hands that stopped him back in the warehouse. It was her hands that patched him up. It was her hands that steadied him as he woke screaming, still caught between his nightmares and reality. It was her hands in the bathroom that stopped him from...

'Is she going to tell Foggy what kind of a fucking lunatic I am?'

Panic shook against his every nerve. He knew it was stupid to be acting this way, cowering, hoping Foggy wouldn't find out exactly what Matt had been doing these past few months...exactly how bad Matt had gotten without any glimmer of hope left in his life.

He tucked his bandaged hand against his chest, hiding it from view as Foggy rounded the side of the couch, finally getting a good look at his estranged friend. 

It had been almost 4 months since Foggy last saw Matt. He wasn't about to tell Matt that he had spent the entirety of those 4 months awake at night, worrying if Matt was still alive. Or to tell him that he spent hours every day reading and watching every bit of news he could find to try and get a glimpse of Matt's late night adventures. 

Or that he tried bringing himself to call...or even text Matt...only to turn his phone off and throwing it across the room.

But, with one look at Matt curled up on the couch, he wished he hadn't turned his phone off...just at least once...


	6. Ninja Turtle Chemicals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, and you should have put deodorant on before you came over." Tilly smirked again at him. 
> 
> Foggy swallowed, forcing the lump in his throat down. He jumped up from his chair, pacing in front of the chair. "No. Not cool. The fucking two of you... Seriously?! Can't a man have a little privacy?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few more pieces of Tilly.  
> Some more of Foggy. 
> 
> Took me a while to get this one out of me. Hopefully it won't take me too long to get the next one out. 
> 
> It will have some sad Foggy and sad Matt.

Matt could feel his entire body protesting against him for being awake, for being alive. He tried to focus on his own heartbeat, tried to distract himself from Foggy's fluttering beat, and the nearly silent one from Tilly. He had caught himself a few times now attempting to figure out how someone ended up with a name like Tilly. 

'Was it really short for something?' 

His hand stung underneath his bandages, pressing them closer to his chest, keeping them out of Foggy's view. His mind started to track back to the idea that this girl might give away his dark secrets from these past few months, tell Foggy just how lost he had become with no one there for him. Matt had made it very clear to Foggy it was better for everyone if Matt was alone, that he didn't need anybody. Now, he was just being too defiantly stubborn to admit he was wrong...and he really, really needed help...needed someone...anyone. 

He could feel his breaths catch in his throat. He tried to focus on something else...anything else. 

Soft humming. 

He couldn't really pinpoint what it was about the sound of the humming from her hearing aids that he found so calming. Maybe it was just enough of a constant white noise to detach himself from his rambling thoughts. Maybe it was comforting to know there was somebody else out there like him...

Maybe the noise reassured him she was there...something about her...something he couldn't quite figure out...something drew him to the sound...to her...

Foggy's voice broke his veering train of thought. Foggy and Tilly had been carrying on a conversation while he faded into his mind.

"Wait. Wait. So, you're like him? You have super powers too??" Foggy sounded almost in awe.

"Stop calling them that." Matt huffed.

"Sorry. Chemically induced, super sensitive, can hear a FUCKING HEART BEAT DOWN THE FUCKING STREET...senses. Is that better?" Foggy didn't even try to hide the sarcasm that was coating his every word. 

"You can hear a heart beat down the street?" Tilly asked. A subtle undertone buried itself beneath her words. Matt couldn't quite place what it was.

"Creepy, right?" Foggy cut in.

Matt groaned. It was moments like this that a part of him regretted telling Foggy about his heightened senses. 

"Creepy isn't the word I'd use..." Tilly softly said. 

Matt finally realized that the one thing he heavily relied on...was the one thing Tilly couldn't. Hearing. The idea that Matt could hear something so soft, so quiet...from blocks away...must pull at her the same way it pulled at him when someone mentions the colors of a sunset.

Longing. That was that subtle undertone he felt off of her words from before. Longing for something most everyone else took for granted. 

He knew the feeling too well. He grasps desperately to the last memory he has of the sky, just before his entire world shifted into darkness. It took him by surprise...this feeling that someone understood what he could never find the words to describe. But, this girl...this girl understood. He realized that together, they make a whole. She has his sight, he has her sound. She feels the world with the same blunt forces that he does, that nobody else could possibly understand. 

"And, no, I don't have those." Tilly's voice evened out, steeling herself back behind whatever walls she hid behind, letting sarcasm deflect any of her visible emotions. 

"His...ninja turtle chemicals." She waved her hand in Matt's direction.

"Mine...an explosion." Her voice softened at that, her gaze drifting to a memory neither Matt, nor Foggy, could see.

"But, you do what he does." Foggy said. 

"I AM sitting right here, you know..." Matt mumbled.

Tilly ignored Matt's grumbling. "In a way, I guess... I can feel things, and smell things...have to take in a whole picture from constantly seeing what's around me. These things aren't always the most reliable..." She tapped at one of her hearing aids. The feedback startled Matt, too soft for Foggy to notice.

"I swear to god, if you say some shit about a world being on fire..." Foggy groaned.

"...sounds uncomfortable." Tilly replied, barely missing a beat.

Matt huffed out a small laugh, not expecting that response from her.

"And please...pleeeaasse tell me that you can't hear my heart beat..." Foggy begged.

"They're just hearing aids, Foggy. Not some supersonice microphone..." Tilly smirked at him. "But, no, I can't hear your heart beat."

"Ugh, thank god..." Foggy sighed.

"But, your left index finger twitches when you're thinking of something before you say it. Your breathing increased from 16 breaths a minute to 22 since this conversation started. Its more shallow now, too. You haven't washed that shirt since the last time you wore it, which seems like it was a week ago, from the stain on the right bottom hem in the front. You tried to fix the second to last button from the bottom, but gave up after four stitches and just tied 5 knots to hold it in place. You're wearing 2 different socks, one clean, one dirty. Your eyes shift to the right of someone's mouth when you finish listening to what they said. You focus on Matt's mouth more closely when he talks as opposed to when I talk, showing how much you actually care about him, giving him your full attention. You pick at your hangnails. You have two fresh ones you picked on the cab ride over here. You put more weight on your right leg than you do your left when you walk. Could be from the wad of gum under your shoe. Smells like spearmint. And you keep licking your lips because you're nervous about all of this stuff I'm saying to you." Tilly let out a labored breath. 

Foggy's mouth had dropped open, eyes widened, staring at her. Matt's mouth had even parted slightly.

"Oh, and you should have put deodorant on before you came over." Tilly smirked again at him. 

Foggy swallowed, forcing the lump in his throat down. He jumped up from his chair, pacing in front of the chair. "No. Not cool. The fucking two of you... Seriously?! Can't a man have a little privacy?" 

His heels squeaked against the wooden floor as he turned towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. 

Tilly let out a soft laugh. Matt smirked at her, amused, listening to Foggy's irritated, but not angry, heartbeat. 

Matt froze.  
Foggy's heart beat skipped. 

'Shit. The bathroom. The glass. The blood...'

"Oh, fuck."


	7. Rooftop Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The city was barely awake. Her legs dangled over the side of some random, abandoned building just outside the city. The morning sun was still hours from stirring, hours from breaking over and in between the different heights of the far off city landscape. Her light brown hair danced across her face, escaping out from underneath the hood from her worn sweatshirt, tucked comfortingly under her jacket. The soft, way too early morning breezes floated through the fabric, sending a slight shiver across her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Chapter One from Tilly's POV. 
> 
> The next chapter or two will be the events leading up to Foggy showing up at Matt's apartment from Tilly's POV...to help get a feel of her and show a little more of her background. This chapter also is a bit more descriptive than the others. Since Tilly relies on sight and feel, I wanted tk make sure I focused in on it a little bit more. Hopefully the difference in everyone's senses comes across in those ways. 
> 
> Hopefully you guys enjoy it. I'm still figuring my way through writing this kind of thing. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

The city was barely awake. Her legs dangled over the side of some random, abandoned building just outside the city. The morning sun was still hours from stirring, hours from breaking over and in between the different heights of the far off city landscape. Her light brown hair danced across her face, escaping out from underneath the hood from her worn sweatshirt, tucked comfortingly under her jacket. The soft, way too early morning breezes floated through the fabric, sending a slight shiver across her body. 

In each hand, she twirled dark her dark green colored hearing aids. She was always torn to admit that when the doctors office had started offering colored molds, she loved being able to choose a new one every so often. It was one small, subtle choice that she was able to make without any true thought or consequence behind it. She could just choose whatever color she was in the mood for at that time. She intertwined her fingers through the thin plastic tube that connected the mold to the actual aid, careful to not let the batteries fall from the half open space, keeping them turned off for the time being. No sense in keeping them turned on if she wasn't actually using them at the moment. And managing to keep a stock supply of batteries on hand was sometimes difficult. Her part time job at some local gym gave her the luxury of food and a tiny room in the back, but not much more than that. 

She didn't really want much more than that, anyways. 

She let her feet kick out mindlessly in front of her, the heels of her sneakers crashing mildly against the old red brick of the building, feeling as every vibration from the impact ignited and then faded as they traveled up each leg. The small shifts of air the motion made found their way through the worn fibers of jeans. 

This was her favorite time of the day. It was one of the few moments she had that kept her connected to the blurred memories she had of her father. Well, he wasn't her real father, biologically. But, he was as significant as something along the lines of a father figure after she lost everyone she loved when she was younger, right in front of her eyes. 

A part of her always hated letting her mind go back to that day, fearing that when she let herself feel how scared and alone she was then, that it would somehow bleed into everything she built herself to become all these years later. She wasn't all that old, 25, and it wasn't, well, it never felt as though it was all that long ago, but it had been almost 20 years. 

She could still taste the sugar from the cotton candy she nearly devoured in just a few enormous, overzealous bites. Her parents had let her and her 2 brothers, one older and one younger, have cotton candy, old fashioned machine popped popcorn, and powdered sugar and cinnamon coated fried dough for dinner. The local carnival was her favorite time of the year. Her parents always took her and her brothers to it the weekend or two before school started. That year, it happened to fall on her 7th birthday, August 31st. 

That night, it was a fairly usual, warm night for August. Tshirts and shorts for everyone. The sun was starting to set somewhere in the distance, showcasing the flashing, flickering red, white, yellow, green and blue bulbs scattered across the open fairgrounds, packed tightly with rides and games and crowds of people. She could never pinpoint what exactly it was about the carnival that made her heart warm all throughout, but, there was no denying from the smile plastered across her barely tanned, freckled face, blue cotton candy stained lips meeting at dimples in either cheek. Her body swayed in a subtle rhythm, sitting on her father's shoulders, bouncing with each step he took. Her younger brother, 5 years old, clung to their mother's hand as he walked in between both of their parents. He had barely made a dent in his serving of his own blue cotton candy, his looking slightly oversized in his tiny grip. Her older brother, 9 years old, walked on the other side of their mother, digging into his fried dough. Powdered sugar and cinnamon had found its way down the front of his shirt and all across the lower half of his face. Their mother had long since given up trying to clear it away, resorting to small smirks that would assure anyone walking by them that she let her children be just that, messy, sugar filled, unbelievably happy and loved children, her children. 

If she closed her eyes, let herself truly lose herself in the muffled silence of the world around her, she could still faintly remember the fading details of that night; the tastes, smells, sights and even the sounds. It wasn't that she couldn't hear anymore. She could. But, it wasn't the same, not how she used to remember. Every time she put in her 'ears', as she calls them, she is forced to be reminded of why she needs them. Every tug on them, every squeal from the feedback, her mind flickers with those sad memories. 

She doesn't cry anymore at them, though. Part of her sometimes wishes she would, wishes she still could. She hadn't tried to let herself become this hardened to the world, but, she had almost been forced to close up every vulnerable part of her, to protect whatever she had left. 

She can almost feel herself bouncing on her father's shoulders, letting the rush of merry-go-rounds and ringing bells and popcorn popping and children laughing flood over her. As the memory trickles on, finer details dotting holes in the overall pictures in her mind, the one detail that has never blurred, that has never faded, washes violently over that half forgotten world she used to live in. 

In just a few short moments, the rush of sounds, flashes, screams and pain rush over her, stealing away everything from her. The night her world shifted and nearly ended. 

The night all of her hope was ripped away from her.

It was then, just as her memories truly started escalating, veering violently towards the painful ones she had worked so hard all of these years to stuff so far down that no one could reach them, that she spotted someone bounding towards the same building she found herself on. 

She let her eyes do the hard work, having conditioned them over the years, letting them compensate for the sense she had lost. The silhouetted figure crossed the shadowed space below her, a certain ease, an almost fluidity that a small part of her was jealous of. Not that she wasn't somewhat graceful in her movements. She had always been, almost, proud of her ability to blend into the shadows, barely able to make a sound, quieting her breathing and slowing her heart rate, her ability to calm her even most inner chaos. She found it was definitely an advantage when it came to her new found nighttime activity. She pushed the battery casings back into each of her aids, effortlessly pressing them within the specific bends of her ears, letting the noise of the world suddenly fill back into her head. The first seconds were always a rush, a wave of a sudden sensation was still something she hadn't found a way to steady herself to. 

The closer the silhouette got, flipping and swinging its way up the side of the building below her feet, the more details she could pull in. Dark red material shimmered in the scattered sources of dim light, bleeding out from the building windows and broken spaces. The silhouette became more and more clearer. Trained muscles and a lean build filled the contours of the material. A hard material covered the top portion of the silhouettes head, masking the eyes and top of the nose. 

She pushed herself up from the ledge, gently stepping back into the mostly shadowed spaces along the rooftop. She closed her eyes, letting her mind work to slow her breathing to an indescernable rate, steadying her heart beat down to a mere flicker beneath her ribs. 

The silhouette crested over where she had been just moments before. Streaked lighting enveloped the silhouettes face and figure. From the portion of the figures face she could manage, the silhouette was a male, seemingly a few years older than her. Stubble decorated his jaw, curling around his mouth and under the corners of his nose, reaching just shy of the bottom of his mask. Glistening red glowed over his eyes. Small points jutted out from his forehead along the mask. 

'Horns. Yup. It's really him...this Daredevil guy.' 

As much as she tried to avoid being noticed by, well, anyone, she kept herself up to date with the news within and around Hell's Kitchen. Her attention usually drifted towards Daredevil, and his own nighttime activities. He may not know it, and probably never will, but he was actually a significant presence in her life, in her past. 

She watched, intrigued, as he glided across the rooftop. He paused midstep, lifting his eyes towards the darkened sky above them. Faint starlight sparkled against the midnight sky, flickers that could only reach outside of the city's flourescent haze. For just a moment, it looked as though he was letting the stillness of the night consume him, almost as if he was calming himself before doing what they both knew he came here to do. 

And, just like that, within the next moment, he had advanced his way along the rooftop, stopping at the open skylight window. He crouched down beside it, tilting his head to the side, letting his ear lean closest to the soft commotion under them. Well, maybe it was a bit more than soft, but, then again, these batteries were old and possibly losing their strength for her 'ears'.

'Interesting.'

Daredevil swung his legs through the small opening, landing softly atop the metal scaffolding framing the building. She inched her way closer, careful to not give herself away, following him through the open space. She landed feet away from him, blending herself into the shadows behind where he balanced. She waited, watching, relief spreading as she managed to do so unnoticed. 

The space between them allowed her to pull in more details, more subtleties of the horned figure before her. He lowered his head again, tilting it side to side, keeping his gaze somewhere near his feet, it seemed. 

'Odd way to listen.' 

His lips parted, mouthing words to himself. She was almost positive no sound escaped him, but he was repeating the words to himself. They were crystal clear to her eyes by the 3rd go around. 

'20 heartbeats. 20.' 

It hit her faster than she expected. 'Is he counting heartbeats?! From 10 stories above?'

She knew there was 20 people inside the building. She had counted them each hours earlier. She had been following this particular drug and weapon ring for nearly 3 months now. She knew each of their faces, each of their habits, even down to each of their own personal scents. 

Oh yeah, that sense amplified as well. Funny how that works. She was slowly, but not actually by this point, realizing that is what she was watching before her. Her senses more than compensated for a missing one. She was more than sure that is exactly what she had just witnessed as well. 

She was instantly relieved that she had taught herself to quiet her heartbeat, because this Daredevil guy hadn't counted hers in the overall heartbeat tally. 

Daredevil leapt from his squatting hiding space to the rafters below, swinging his way across the open, empty airspace. His movements pulled her from her thoughts. She focused her eyes onto him, as he landed flawlessly within the center of the unassuming men below. She kicked her legs out, the momentum allowing gravity to pull and push her down an almost identical path along the metal scaffolding beams, landing behind stacked wooden crates, keeping herself from view. 

Before she could rise to her feet, bracing herself for the plan she had been writing and rewriting in her head these past few months, Daredevil had managed to swing, connect and send 2 men to the ground into unconscious heaps. He was closing in on a 3rd by the time she managed to ground her feet underneath her, breaking herself out from the shadow of the wooden crates. 

She kept her focus on Daredevil, watching the 3rd man steady himself after the initial blow to his head, lowering himself into a defensive stance, readying his fading will power to attack. Daredevil swayed, head tilting in that same manner, towards her sudden presence within the building riot within these abandoned warehous walls. 

She couldn't help but notice the way his body stiffened, his senses finally combining enough to notice her amongst all of these...'heartbeats'. Nearly 20 years of practice can really hone in one's talents, apparently. 

The stumbling man managed to connect a closed fist to Daredevil's jaw, skin smacking harshly against each other. 

'Whoops.' She'll take the blame for that one.

She lunged forward, tucking her knees into her chest as she broke across the air. She outstretched her legs, locking her feet against one another, slamming them into another man's sternum, forcing the air out of their lungs. Landing gracefully atop the concrete floor, she stole a glance back at him, just as the shine of the metal glinted into her line of sight. 

Daredevil's body had gone rigid, fear creasing the unseen parts of his face, seeping its way down to his trembling bottom lip. She didn't have a chance to analyze the overwhelmingly sudden state of fear that was currently paralyzing him in his place. The knife in another man's determined hand was nearing, and Daredevil wasn't moving. 

'Shit.'


	8. She Was Flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her body became weightless. She was floating. She was flying. Flying high into the still night sky. She could kiss the stars, pull them down, keep them for herself, to light her way in the darkest of places. The world was so beautiful all the way up here. She was so warm. On one side. She was so cold everywhere else. Why was she so cold? Why was she sticky? Why did the stars blur into each other? No. Come back. Where are you going? Why is the world getting darker?
> 
> She was flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me much longer than I wanted to get out. 
> 
> POV of Tilly from their first meeting.

His feet stayed planted, exactly where they were, never moving, never even flinching. He was frozen, shocked still where he stood. She watched his body tremble, fingers twitching in half closed fists. Just in time for that shiny new knife to glide fluidly across the air, aiming just for him, and him alone. 

Tilly could feel her feet move, way before her mind caught up with the unfolding commotion. She had been stabbed before, far too many times to actually count at this point. But, getting practically carved open was an entirely new sensation. The pull and stretch of her skin, the warmth of her own blood smearing against her clothes and surrounding skin...

It hurt. 

But, dammit, Daredevil still wasn't moving. She was. Against her will. Too much blood. The edges of her vision started to blur, darken. Her toes tingled. Her knees wobbled, shaking the last of her composure out of her body. She didn't even feel the cold cement as she crumpled into herself.

\-------------------------

Her body became weightless. She was floating. She was flying. Flying high into the still night sky. She could kiss the stars, pull them down, keep them for herself, to light her way in the darkest of places. The world was so beautiful all the way up here. She was so warm. On one side. She was so cold everywhere else. Why was she so cold? Why was she sticky? Why did the stars blur into each other? No. Come back. Where are you going? Why is the world getting darker?

She was flying.

\---------------------

Her eyes struggled open. Bright yellows and vivid purples flickered through large nearly floor to ceiling windows behind her. The strange apartment she was in was dimly lit, aside from the bright lights just outside the window. What the hell was that? Why was it so bright? How the hell does anyone sleep in this place?

A dark figure started towards her, from behind the couch. Its footsteps were light, barely making any vibrations against the ground. He smelled of sweat, the fear kind. Interesting. 

The closer he got, the more the outside light highlighted his face. Strong jaw line. Tousled hair. Few days worth of stubble along that damn jaw line. Whoa. Why was he dressed in all red? That was red he was wearing, red? The shifting colors made it difficult to really pinpoint the color of that suit that was hugging him in all the appropriate places. 'Well, shit, this guy is kind of hot.' 

In his hands, a beat up metal container. He gently placed it on the coffee table, taking his own place at her waist line. He hovered over her, head tilted to the side, refusing to make eye contact. 

Up closer, now, she could definitely make out the darkened red of his odd outfit choice. But, there, sitting on the opposit chair, a familiar red mask sat. Tiny little horns protruding from the smoothed skull. 

Holy fucking shit. This was Daredevil, unmasked, in the flesh. 

His hands were soft, gentle. Roughened skin, but gentle. He carefully lifted up the tattered remains of her shirt. Her eyes broke away from awkwardly, but full on s t a r i n g, to finally get a good look at her stomach.

Holy shit. She had entirely forgotten. From her rib cage to just above the waist of her jeans, a very rough looking slice curved and twisted the paleness of her skin. Well, it was pale. Her skin now boasted a shiny, deep red coating, alternating colors in the randomized glow from behind her. 'Well, this is definitely a new one for me...'

She watched as he gently and v e r y quietly pulled a needle, sutures and gauze from the metal first aid box...without looking. 'Jesus...he must do this a lot.' She watched as he carefully pulled at her skin, sliding the needle through each side, pulling them close. The sting of the needle peircing her skin started to fade with each stick. His head bent down, keeping his eyes close on her stomach. 'I think he is at least.' 

Halfway through suturing her stomach, she had noticed his head turned away, almost staring down towards her feet. 'Wait?! Where are my shoes?'. Returning her focus back to the back of his damn head, it finally hit her, like a freight train, all at once. Each up close encounter rushed back, crash piling into her memory. The coal of the engine from the train sparking alive under the shock of her sudden moment of clarity. 'What. The. Shit?! He's blind?'. 

Her lack of a sense was noticeable on the outside, but if she took out her ears, she could at least pretend and slightly function on a more acceptable day to day basis, able to avoid most stares. But, she couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose her sight, lose the entire world in her eyes. She knows how deeply insensitive and selfish it is to think that way, but the colors of the world are what she sometimes needs...even before she lost her hearing. 

Way back when, back before the Earth shifted and tilted her entire existence off-course, she knew she saw the world differently. Her carefree attitude and bubbly personality always charmed anyone she met. But, the same quirks she used to weasle her way out of time-outs, caused her problems in school. It wasn't until after her first life shift that she was diagnosed with ADHD. Well, that explained quite a bit. After long nights of restlessness, her Henry had decided to start on a small dose of medications while she was in school, and the outer struggles of the world eased. 

The world stopped being so goddamn overwhelming. 

It explained why she didn't like how the air felt sometimes, or why someone's body language struck her so intensely. Her senses had always picked up so much, and it only seemed to dial up after she lost her hearing and she more than needed to rely on what she had left. She had fine tuned them and the after effects seemed permanent. 

So, when she watched someone else use their remaining senses for nearly the same reasons as herself, she was...well, to be honest, she had never met someone like herself. Watching Daredevil pick and pull and stitch her back together with such precision, was an almost beautiful sight to see. 

It wasn't until he reached over to the half drunken bottle of whiskey, taking a long swig from it, lips curling in grimace as his throat bobbed the burning liquid down. 

"How do you do that?"

His voice caught her off guard, a hint of fire buried between his words. She could see the shift in his body, the tense of his muscles. He must not be a fan of being glared at either. But, she had been motionless, had slowed her heartbeat down to the rate she had perfected over the years, to quiet herself into near stillness. Something she h a d to learn to do...but, she couldn't figure out what exactly he was talking about. There's no way he could hear her heartbeat, right?

"Do what?"

His muscles tightened even more. She was half afraid they were going to burst out of his silly red costume.

"Keep your breathing so even, keep your heart rate so calm." 

A grimace creased across his face, almost regretting his words, puckering his lips on the sour taste his verbal expulsion left behind. Did he just admit that he could hear it? He could actually hear her heart?! No. No way. She watched as he pulled another stitch through her skin, flawlessly twisted and tying into a knot. 

"How do you do THAT?" 

She hadn't meant to add that much emphasis to the end of her question, but she was growing more and more impressed with him and what he could apparently do. The ease of him threading her skin like it was a simple piece of fabric, one that just so happened to hold her together, as broken as that shell may in fact be. 

"Had enough practice over the years." 

His words sounded flat, rehearsed, like he had been asked that same question millions of times in his close to thirty years of life, at least she guessed he was close to thirty. She almost got the feeling that he had heard that question in reference to almost all aspects of his life, and not just to him stitching up strangers on his couch. But, the smell of all the dried up blood etching through the fibers of the couch below her made her second guess that thought...

He tied off the last stitch, cutting the loose thread away. She stared down, examining his work. Better than any attempts she had ever made. But, no, sunshine, that is not what she had meant. 

"That's not what I meant."

He stopped, fresh gauze hovering just above the suture line. Without his mask on, she could make out the hazel-brown of his eyes, the far off look they seemed to settle on. The slight hesitation in his movements, the subtle grace of his fingers, of his arms, of his whole body, had seemed almost fluid-like, liquifying his motions through the starch rigors the world sometimes stifled her view with. The way he had contorted his body to bend with the air waves, to float weightlessly across the colors shifting in her eyes. Now, to see it all up close, to see the ripples of his skin and the curl and coil of his muscles under his own fabric skin... She was in awe before, but the added mystery of h o w lurched her more and more into curiosity. 

"Well, what was it you meant, then?" 

She watched as he pressed the gauze down onto her stomach, covering the pristine suture line twirling down her abdomen...with a little bit too much force then expected, given the softness of before. She wasn't too surprised to realize she had struck a nerve. The tremor in his hands pulled at the guilty fibers in her heart, playing the same song she has felt far too many times to count, or honestly even cared to count. She reached up, softly taking the tape from his hands, taping down a protective layer against her own skin, to protect his artwork she now wore. 

She couldnt't help but notice the very apparent panic settling into his features. The rise and fall of his chest shifting and staggering against the confines of his costume. He let out an exhausted, but relief fueled breath, panic subtly subsiding. 

"What did you mean?" 

She had been so focused on tapaing the gauze down to her stomach that she had forgotten to answer him. She could taste the annoyance in his voice. Crap. 

"The blind thing." 

Okay, maybe THAT wasn't the best choice of words, but, it was really what she had meant. Her ADHD had a tendency to make her blurt out the first thought, without letting herself attempt to filter things through. Not that she really had a filter, but...

"The blind thing? What makes you think I'm blind?" 

Was he serious? 

"You're not all that subtle about it." 

She ripped a final piece of tape from the roll, adhering the last corner of the gauze to her skin. She looked up at him, struck by the very apparent shift in his body language. He was actually shaking. Shit. 

"What's with the deaf thing? Pretty sure those things in your ears squealing don't make it easy for you to lurk in the shadows and be some invisible little shit." 

Wow. He knows? She knew her ears sometimes squealed, but she had new molds in and the fit was tight enough that she barely had any feedback. Only when someone touched them, or pressed their fingers along them... Wait, did he do that while she laid unconscious on his couch? That fucking asshole! No one touches her ears. No. 

"Not deaf, but kudos for the assumption there guy. Glad to know your hands are more delicate than your bedside manner." 

Yup, he was still visibly shaking. 

"Pretty sure you referenced someone's disability as a 'thing', real delicate yourself there sunshine. And...really! You can't give me shit for going with that assumption...hearing aids usually go along with that kind of 'thing'." 

She was starting to mirror his anger, letting it rise into her throat. 

"Well...funny thing. When you're deaf, you can't hear. But...I CAN actually hear, dumbass. Even without my ears in. I just can't hear WELL." 

Yes! She watched him clench his teeth down. That's what he gets for being a dick. 

"Gonna answer my question from before?"

Fuck you, no. 

"What one? I wasn't paying attention. Your blind 'thing' was kind of interesting to watch." 

Pretty sure she could see bits of his teeth fly off into the space between them. 

"How did you keep your breathing so even." 

Sneaky little shit, leaving out something there...

"Oh, and how I kept my heart rate so calm too, right?"

Ha. 

"Yeah. That." 

Oh, wow. She smirked so easily watching the uneasiness melt over him. 

"Had enough practice over the years."

Two can play that game. 

He sighed, a little too overdramatically, pulling the whiskey bottle back up to his lips, draining the remains of the bottle. He pushed himself up off the table, walking across the sparsely decorated living room to what she assumed was his bedroom. 

He walked back out a few minutes later wearing only a pair of sweatpants. Uhhhh... Crisscrossing along the contours of his lean body, she could make out every scar, every scrape he had ever gotten, somehow illuminating in the glows of the lights outside. He quickly walked over, dropping a balled up pair of sweatpants and shirt onto the floor by her head, turning even quicker on his heels and trudging back into his bedroom. 

Those guilt strings pluck their way back into her mind, drowning herself with thoughts that maybe, just maybe, she was being too much of an asshole. He threw himself down onto his bedsheets, head facing away from her. 

But, then again, he was being one first. 

Hmmm...'he's fun'.


	9. Saving Daredevil From Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, there she sat, eyes closed, head back, breathing in the night air, avoiding the questions she had racing through her head about if this was really what her life had become. 
> 
> Saving Daredevil from himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter from Tilly's POV. 
> 
> The next one will finally catch up to where Matt's POV left off, when Foggy comes to Matt's apartment.

The glow from outside the windows dimmed in the early morning light. Tilly had been awake well before dawn, barely slipping into any form of sleep after Daredevil flopped onto his bed. The sting from her abdomen kept pulling her out of her half-hearted dreams and into her new, odd reality she somehow stumbled into. And...that asshole drank the rest of the whiskey right in front of her last night. Fucking rude. 

So, when the faintest hints of morning broke against the flickering lights of the obnoxious billboard outside, she huffed and managed to wiggle herself into a standing position in this guy's deeply-in-need-of-decorations living room. She had half a mind to readjust the furniture, just slightly, to somehow be able to still fuck with him even after she left. 

After some serious consideration, really serious consideration, she opted to just scoop up the thrown about gauze pieces and wrappers designed with her dried up blood from off of the table, stuffing it into the pockets of her jacket before slipping her shoes back on and climbing her way up the staircase to the roof. Yup, that was pretty awesome, having his own secret access way to the roof. 

Still a dick, though.

\----------------------

Months had gone by since her last run in with Daredevil. She wasn't too upset about that. The stitch job he did on her stomach healed up really well, though. She was only slightly irritated about that. Ugh, she had to give him a LITTLE bit of credit... 

Still a dick, though. 

She had been laying low in the last few months, trailing a group of drug dealers all across the shittiest parts of New York City. She groaned numerous times whenever they ventured into Hell's Kitchen, very outwardly hoping to avoid Daredevil at all costs. She just couldn't deal with his dick-ness right now. Last time she let herself anywhere near him and his flip flopping of being actually reliable, she got herself sliced up like a frozen carcass lining the seediest of meat factories she most recently had to sneak her way into to grab the latest bit of intel she needed. Damn, a nice, greasy cheeseburger sounds amazing right now. Fuck, should have eaten before this...

This...being her crouched along another stupid, predictable rooftop just outside the depths of where she wanted to be. Oh, and even more fucking convenient...that red asshole has found his way back into her little life and is probably moments away from finding some super awesome way to fuck it up. 

She gives him twenty minutes, tops. 

She watches as he swings his way along the inner structures, slinging his way down the metal rafters. Dammit, he did that so easily... 

Two minutes. 

He landed softly along the concrete flooring. The wooden boxes and abandoned heavy machinery filled the empty spaces along the warehouse floor. Did they all really have to look so much alike?! He snuck his way along the rows of crates, zig zagging his paths within the shadows they made. 

Five minutes. 

She could see, just beyond the stack of wooden crates he was now hunched behind, the group of low lifes she had been tailing these past few months, plus some extra dickwads for good measure, having some sort of Super Secret Drug Dealer Social Club meeting. And then heres the biggest dickwad of all, in all his red horned glory, ready to take them all on. 

Eight minutes.

Ha. Maybe he won't even get to twenty. 

He emerged from the shadowy disguise and stood, squaring himself off in front of all 17 men. She was sure he knew exactly how many guys there were, sure he had heard and counted every heart beat, in all of his weird ass, albeit, talented ways. The shock washed over all of the mens faces before one finally broke and lurched towards Daredevil, who just so conveniently decided to stop moving at that moment.

Seriously?! How the fuck did this guy make it this far and this long with his absolutely piss poor fighting tactics...?! 

Ten minutes.

The first punch connected with his face, barely knocking him backwards. Blood slid along his gumline and in between his teeth, giving a slightly eery feel to the very evil grin spreading across his face. Okay, actually, it was a tad bit badass looking, a smirk breaking across her own face before she could force herself to stop. And then...he was a blur of red and bodies. 

Thirteen minutes. 

Holy shit. She was definitely wrong about his fighting tactics. The man could move. And each of his punches were beyond effective...slumping grown ass men with at least 50 pounds on him to the ground in heaps. Almost like a sack of potatoes, but she liked, no loved, potatoes too much to insult them like that. Irish stereotype and everything... 

Sixteen minutes. 

Sixteen minutes was how long it took to swing his way down, lurk in the shadows, attack and knock sixteen men to the ground. Whoa...

It was the last man standing, well, barely, that caused her the most concern. Whatever sense of grip he had had on reality was definitely long gone as that last man stumbled forward with unsure fists. Daredevil's own closed fist made contact, sending the man to the ground in the same slumping fashion as his shitty coworkers. She thought the fight was over, but Daredevil simply leapt on top of the man, pounding fist after fist into the mans jumbled mess of a face.

Nineteen minutes. 

Yup, she called it. Managed to fuck it all up with one minute to spare. 

She climbed her way down the metal rafters, barely making a sound as her feet landed on the concrete flooring behind him. She honestly wasn't sure if the unconscious man on the floor was even still alive, not that she honestly gave a shit for all the things she had seen him do the last few months, but she knew she couldn't let Daredevil keep going. 

She reached out, grabbing both of his wrists, somehow managing to steady his destructive rhythm against this man's body. 

And he practically melted into his own state of unconsciousness before her. 

Well, fuck. That wasn't how that was supposed to go...

\----------------------

She had always prided herself on the fact that she could hold her own, could take care of herself, trusting her skills and her strength. But, dead weight, unconscious Daredevil was fucking heavy. And lugging his dumbass across the dirt field outside the warehouse and up the, possibly, most rusted fire escape stairs she had ever graced herself on...well, yeah, she needed to work out a little bit more, apparently.

Or, maybe the dumb stupid shit in the fucking stupid red get up still fucking unconscious in her fucking tired as shit arms shouldn't get himself into so much fucking trouble and she wouldn't be lugging his stupid ass up these stupid fucking stairs... 

She may, or may not, have pushed him slightly down the last few stairs in his apartment. Heaving deep breaths in and out, sweat sticking uncomfortably to just about everywhere on her, she thought it was appropriate to do so. 

Ugh, so close to his bed. So fucking close. She dragged him along the wooden floor, thankful the stupid red outfit has some slight sheen to it that it slid easier across the surface. She somehow managed to lift him up onto his bed...even if it meant lifting one leg at a time and maneuvering herself under his back and pushing him the rest of the way up. So what if he kind of sort of landed with his head between his knees? He was on the bed, wasn't he? 

She somehow even managed to pry the stupid outfit off of him. Now, for the record, fuck that stupid red fucking piece of shit outfit. Seriously?! How the hell did he manage to wrangle himself in and out of that stupid fucking thing day after night?! Uhm, actually, the stench that was coming off of him when she finally freed his skin made her question the last time it was actually off... Whoa...

And of course he managed to get himself sliced up along his arm. Well, now that she was looking closer, there were quite a bit of holes along the fabric, lining themselves up with some fresh cuts and scars on his torso. Uhm, or what used to be his torso...

Varying shades of blacks and purples trickled along the skin that was pulling sickenly tight across his bones. His ribs almost ripping out of the thin coating. His hip bones looked almost painful protruding themselves out. The matted stubble along the lower half of his face looked weeks, almost months old. At least it matched the very homeless look his hair was currently styled into. Clearly uncut, unbrushed and most definitely unwashed, grossly shining in that fucking glow of that fucking billboard outside his apartment. 

What the actual fuck was he doing to himself? She could practically taste the booze dripping out of his skin. Pretty sure she could bottle it up and sell it to bars for a hefty penny for just how strong the stench was... 

With one final tug, she managed to pull the last of him free from the sweaty red mess of a dumb stupid fucking costume. Finding the first aid kit in the same spot on the coffee table in the living room, she found herself hoping it hadn't been there this whole time. Or, that all of the empty whiskey bottles on the floor and along the kitchen counter had been there last time she was here, and had been accumulating over the past five years and not over the course of these last three fucking months...because, if so, holy fucking shit...

She shook her head from that thought, possibly storing it to come back to later, if she remembers. But, to be honest, this is probably, yup, definitely one of those things even her ADHD mind wouldn't...couldn't forget. 

She walked back into his bedroom, somehow managing to get twelve very sloppy stitches into his arm. By the time she had gotten to her third stitch was the time he felt most appropriate to start moving and fighting back against her. Ohhhh...it took sooo much of her to not knock him back the fuck out. Seriously guy...knock it the fuck off...!! 

She tied off the last stitch, wrapped some half assed gauze around his arm and headed back out to the kitchen. Her mind started to wander at just what exactly Daredevil had been doing while she had so purposely avoided him these last few months. A small, err...moderate sized twinge pulled at her, managing to let guilt wash over her. 

'Maybe, if I had kept an eye on him...' 

She shook her head again. No, stop thinking like that. She set to picking up the empty scattered bottles, lining them up quietly along the far counter. Thirty-six bottles. How's the fucking liver doing?! Holy shit! Half eaten energy bars cluttered the sink and the remaining free spaces of the countertops. So, wiskey and shitty energy bars. Solid choice in diet. 

Glad to know...still a dick. A stupid dick, though. 

She went in to check on him again, relieved to find him still asleep. It wasn't until she finally let herself stop moving that she noticed just how musty and stale his apartment had smelled. She needed fresh air. She climbed her way up those super secret stairs to his still pretty awesome secret roof access, inhaling the still night air deeply. She crouched just outside of the door, propping it open with a nearby cinderblock, leaning herself back against the frame. She knew her 'ears' had fresh batteries and the molds still fit pretty well, but she didn't want to chance being out of hearing aid shot if the stupid shithead decided to wake up and start moving around. 

So, there she sat, eyes closed, head back, breathing in the night air, avoiding the questions she had racing through her head about if this was really what her life had become. 

Saving Daredevil from himself.


	10. Just For Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She softly places her hand on his shoulder, ignoring the wet shift her skin makes against his. His entire body stills. 
> 
> Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short. I wanted to get at least a little bit more from Tilly's POV out.

The cool wind felt soothing to Tilly's flushed skin. She almost didn't care the way her sweat had dried to her skin, leaving that sticky coating, reminding her of the strange events of the evening she just had...in a very annoying manner. Daredevil...what the fuck...

She let her head fall back, resting against the frame of the door, half heartedly listening to make sure his dumb ass was still asleep. So far, he's been out for about an hour. Just enough time for her body to jump back down off of the adrenaline rush he so carelessly threw her on. Definitely not how the night was planned out...to be sitting on the rooftop of one Daredevil, having to physically put him to bed and tend to his wounds like a little mother hen. Ugh, definitely not how the fucking night was planned, whatsoever. 

She had finally gotten her skin to stop scratching and her heartbeat to slow way the fuck back down, when, low and behold, little beaming ray of fucking sunshine decides to wake up in the most irritating, spine cringing way...

By screaming at the top of his fucking lungs. 

She didn't even need her ears to hear him. Pretty sure the entire building could hear him. Nope, scratch that...the entire fucking city block could hear him... What the shit, dude?! 

Without even attempting to hide her annoyance, she huffed out a sigh and pushed herself up off of the rooftop ground, very loudly trudging her footsteps down the wooden roof access stairway. 

This was so not how the fucking night was supposed to...

Okay. Take back everything that just happened. Daredevil was sitting, in just the boxers she had left him in, in the middle of his bed. He was staring off into absolutely nowhere, but she still couldn't figure out if that was his normal spaced out gaze or something a little more...serious. His hands were up at his head, fingers intertwined in his hair, pulling tightly at the brown locks. Pretty sure he was going to scalp himself if she didn't intervene. And then, he starts rocking. Back and forth, back and forth. His skin was shimmering in the barely lit room, sweat clearly pooling on the damaged paleness covering him. Yup, and that asshole split open every last fucking stitch she had put into his arm. If he didn't have the look of absolute fucking panic on his face, she would easily have been absolutely bullshit at him. But, then he started to rock back against the wall by the head of his bed, violently. 

Well, fucking shitfuck... 

"This is real. This is real. This is real. This is real. I'm awake. This is real. She's not real. This is real. I'm awake. I'm awake. This is real. This is real." 

What? What was he repeating? Over and over and over, his voice barely registering to her. Fuck, her ears weren't THAT good. She knew it was a panic attack. She knew it was brought on by a nightmare. She knew he woke up in the middle of fighting his reality and his mind. She knew it. She knew it because she's had them. She knows exactly how it looks. She knows exactly how it feels. She knows exactly what to do right now, and what not to do...and what not to do is scare the fucking shit out of him by reaching out for him. Especially when she knows he can't even fucking see her...

But, she can't understand what he's saying. She needs to get closer...

His arms are pulled so tightly around him that his skin really looks like it might rip away from his bones, starting with the cut along his arm that is now half pouring down his arm onto his sweat soaked sheets beneath him. How in the hell can he even get a good breath in with his knees pulled so tightly to his chest. They're erratic, at best, choppy, barely even qualify as breaths at this point. 

She softly steps closer, gauging his reactions to each step. It was mostly pointless, as his actions barely faltered from the steady rocking he had fallen into. His gaze had gone from unshifting focus to unsettling glances, frantic in their movements from side to side, zeroing in on absolutely nothing. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

She had reached the side of the bed, a hand tentatively reaching out for him. 

"This is real. This is real. This is real. This is real. This is real. This is..."

Shit, shit. Okay, breathe. Can't have both of you panicking. Whatever his mind is screaming at him, he's trying to break out of it. Fucking relax...take a deep breath...slow it down...

"Hey...hey..."

Her voice is barely above a whisper. Even on a shitty day, she knew he should be able to hear her. Fuck, from what she can gather, he can hear a fucking heartbeat...her beat to shit panicked voice shouldn't be a problem. 

She softly places her hand on his shoulder, ignoring the wet shift her skin makes against his. His entire body stills. 

Fuck.

Without a moments hesitation, he breaks his fierce grip from around his knees and, with very, very shaky hands, reaches out towards her. Now it's her turn to freeze, foolishly frozen midstep towards him. Great. Perfect fucking time to all of a sudden stop being somewhat helpful and f u c k i n g p a n i c! 

His hands grasp onto her forearms, pulling her closer to him, in a not-so-gentle way. She crashes against him, barely able to get a knee down beneath her to support some of her weight against the bed. Legs and arms wove their way around her body, pulling her down deeper into the softness of the mattress. Whatever shred of compassion and humanity she sometimes swore she had lost along the way softened her exterior, allowing this breaking, broken man to cling to her for whatever unseeable reasons. For every panic attack she has had to suffer alone, and for all the teeth grinding frustration this man has caused her...she could help him through this. 

Just for tonight.

\---------------------


	11. Just Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She took another one, rounding the corner at the edge of the bed, furthest away from him. 
> 
> Still no reaction to the visible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more of Tilly's POV. Almost there... 
> 
> This one talks about watching someone have a panic attack, someone having slight sensory overload, and then having a panic attack themselves. If those are any bit of an issue.

She couldn't remember the last time she actually dreamt. No, scratch that blatant lie...she couldn't even remember the last time she slept...truly, actually slept. Okay, well, there was one time, but that was only because a very big, very steel toed combat boot decided to become fast friends with the side of her head, and she definitely slept for a good twelve hours then... But, this...this was different. 

She was comfortable. She was warm. Fuck, she was safe. For the first time since...since...

Nope. Not going there. Not tonight. Or, is it morning? Still dark outside, kind of. Except for that stupid billboard. Seriously? Who thought that was EVER a good idea? No, it's still dark outside. So...early morning? Yeah, that sounds about right...go with that. 

What the hell woke her up, then? That's when it hit her...(oh, so strangely foreshadowing). 

The warm chest behind her, expanding and contracting...at a very alarming rate. She could feel the protrusion of ribs pressing harshly into her back, making their absence all the much more concerning... Fuck. Daredevil. That's right. 'Panic attack. Yup. His. Not yours, hold your shit together...'

Too late.

His body stiffened. The limbs still tangled around her tightened briefly before almost spinning her away from him as he detached himself, awkward movements much like a outlandish ballroom dance number where her over the top dress should billow out from her waist, satin and sheen distracting the onlookers from the fluidity of their conjoined movements across the lacquered dance floor. Except...she wasn't wearing a dress, this wasn't some fancy Disney movie production, and that satin and sheen fabric was literally sliding her out of that comfy bed. Motherfucker just pretty much kicked her ass out of bed. 'Dude...it's still sleeping time...and I haven't even put my ears back in.'

No. Don't be a dick. Okay. Focus.

By the time she steadied herself on her feet on the opposite side of the bed she had been so comfortably curled up into, Daredevil was standing. Somehow, in the time it took for her to get on her feet, she managed to stick her ears back in, letting the last sense of hers to finally come back to her. Well, that was a bit too much at that moment...

Having felt his rapidly increasing panicked breaths, nothing compared to the shallow, frantic inhales and exhales. He sounded worse than he looked, and he looked like a total fucking wreck. And, honestly...to say that he looked like a total fucking wreck was probably the biggest understatement of the year...nope, fucking century. His hair was sticking out in every possible angle not known to mankind, defying the laws of actual gravity at this point. Sweat had found its way back to coating his pale exterior. At some point, she should start trademarking the unique blending of panic and 'what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-with-your-life' overall coloring of his skin and market it out to Behr or Whatever Other Major Paint Company there is. Not that anyone would...should...paint their walls with this color. 

Shit, wrong time to drift off...focus fuckhead. 

The blood from that annoying slash across his arm had dried into an oddly abstract pattern across his arm and even spreading small spiderwebs of maroon along his torso. Her eyes flickered to the soft gray bedsheets she still couldn't help but long to be curled into, and noticed the dark stains mixed in with the fading imprints of their bodies. The stiffness along her flank told her, without having to look, that he had bled onto her throughout the night, staining and stiffening her clothes with his blood. Well...that's not fucking coming out... 

Her eyes darted back across the stained bedsheets to take him back in. His entire body was shaking, nearly vibrating where he stood. His bare feet stuck to the wooden boards beneath them, toes curling into the grains, seemingly keeping him in place. She almost got the impression that if his toes hadn't been digging into the floor, he just might pulsate out the door behind him... She hesitated, then opted to try out taking a small step forward. 

No reaction. To her, at least. 

She took another one, rounding the corner at the edge of the bed, furthest away from him. 

Still no reaction to the visible.

Deep breath. Hands held strategically by her sides, fingers loose, shoulders shrugged down...calm. Outwardly, though. Inwardly...her heart was pounding, her breathing rapid. There was no way she could manage calming herself while attempting to calm the frighten shell of a man before her. She knew that one wrong move on her part could end very badly for her. She has seen him fight. Okay, maybe not so much in the past few months, but when he did have his shit somewhat together, he could dessimate an entire crowd in a few minutes. Being taken out by Daredevil was not something she currently felt inclined to experience... And shit, she really needed to learn this guy's name...starting to sound ridiculous calling him Daredevil all the time...

Deep breath. Slow. Shit. Okay, here goes nothing...

"Hey, whoa."

His body stilled, head tilting to the side again. He was listening to her. Probably her heartbeat. Fuck, calm it down, slow it down... Nope. Not working. 

"This isn't real."

His voice barely squeaked, but startled her more than she cared to admit. As quiet as his voice sounded, the sheer volume it somehow expressed to her that he was, in fact, full on freaking the absolute fuck out is what seemed to terrify her the most. This man, somehow still standing before her, built his entire persona around the notion that in one swift motion, he could toss you off a rooftop and you'd never see it coming. He could have twenty guys teaming up against him, and he could handle himself so flawlessly, so effortlessly...it was like watching this beautiful, well choreographed dance ensemble...that just had the entire lot of whoever his opponent happened to be at that specific showing completely fall into an unconscious pile just before the curtain closed. But...right now...right here...in his fucking bedroom....wow, her life became very weird in the past few months...this local hero was losing his entire grasp on his life, his mind...his reality... 

She knew the overwhelming oceanic crash of sensory waves all too well. Most people assumed that when she lost her hearing, that all of her other senses got dialed up and that is why the world became painful at times. But, that's not exactly the case... It wasn't until she recieved that four letter diagnosis that it all clicked together. She was fortunate to have enough resources when she finally adopted by her Henry that she could somehow start to manage her diagnosis. So many people assumed ADHD was just a focusing issue, but, with her, the sensory processing function in her brain also seemed to be a bit out of whack. Sights and smells and even the soft breeze of a wind could set her off, somehow spiraling her deep down into a rapid panic attack. The world would crush down on her, her lungs would somehow always forget to work and she would find herself gasping for air as her vision would start to blacken. So...to stand in front of this guy, watching him grasp so desperately at whatever is real in front of him...her heart actually wrenched at the sight. Her cool, closed off heart actual felt something...fuck, she was like the Grinch. Not cool.

Before she could process her next form of action, Daredevil flinched, causing her to flinch, falling slightly onto the bed, but no one needs to know that, and he brought a closed fist to the side of his own head. Uhm, fuck. This took a very drastic, very fucking bad turn. And then, another fist. And another. And another. And another. Whoa...fuck.

She slid back off the bed, hands reached out in front of her, shaking almost as much as he was. 

"Hey...hey...whoa. Let's just...hey...shhh..."

It surprised her that she managed to make her own voice even work. She somehow even forced her feet to work, softly making her way towards him. Tears had spilled over their edges, tracing harsh lines along his flushed cheeks. He looked even worse up close like this... Against her better judgement, she softly pressed against his arm, hoping to stop him from at least hurting himself. 

Wrong fucking choice.

In split second movements, so much like the ones she had come to know about him, he had wrenched her arm back away from him, gripping around her wrist so tightly that she honestly could feel her bones shift slightly under her skin. Yup, that fucking hurt. She gritted her teeth, grinding them down against one another to distract herself from the pain. The blank expression across his far off eyes settled eerily in the pit of her stomach. It was that moment she realized he was so far detached from his own mind and reality that she wasn't sure what she was going to do to help him...or even to help herself now. 

His arm bent her arm more backwards, straining her tired muscles, forcing them into a direction they weren't made for. That was when a closed fist broke across the silence of the room, cracking loudly against her eye socket. The pain was instant, her eyes tearing up instinctively. She knew he fractured something. She had come to know so much about her body in her lifetime, that even the faintest of fractures could be felt. And this was her face...her fucking eye socket. Seriously? 

As soon as his fist had met the skin of her face, he had broken his grasp, his fucking death grip, on her arm. She stumbled backwards from the force his closed fist had exerted, somehow falling down to her knees. 

From somewhere deep inside, somewhere scared and absolutely petrified, her voice rang out much harsher than she knew it could. 

"Stop. Hey!"

His entire body stilled. His jaw even dropped open, almost as though he realized what he had done. His wandering gaze made it impossible to read. Where the fuck was he? Come back. Please. 

She tried to stand, shuffling her feet underneath her. Before her bare footing was even secured against the grains, Daredevil turned, barely making contact against the floor as he sprinted away from her, turning a sharp corner and slamming a door behind him. 

She sunk back down, gasping for air she hadn't realized she had been lacking. Tears fell against the ground and, for once, she didn't care that they were falling, that she was breaking down, that she was vulnerable. 

Just breathe.  
Just breathe.  
Just...


	12. Person Strangely Named Foggy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She curled up on the floor beside his head, legs curling underneath herself. Flipping through the phone, she landed on text messages. The last message was sent four months ago. Four months. So someone named Foggy. Foggy? Shit, Tilly doesn't sound so bad now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foggy finally comes back in this one. Well...somewhat. The next chapter will be the actual face-to-face with Tilly and Foggy from Tilly's POV. 
> 
> I just wanted to get this one out and done so I could focus on that chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Tilly wasn't exactly sure how long it had been since Daredevil sprinted frantically away from her, slamming some door she couldn't see, or even remembering it existing. She had barely managed to hold her hands out in front of her as she sunk down to the ground, finally letting her own panic attack sink back in. What the fuck she was actually panicking about...she honestly couldn't pinpoint. All she knew was that her vision started to blacken, tunneling in the worst way, as her lungs ached, trying so hard to fill themselves with air. Wait, what the fuck, she was crying? 'Fuck, Till...pull your shit together.' 

She had let herself become vulnerable, again. She had tried so hard, fought so hard, to hide behind some imaginary wall, one she never thought she would let someone chip away at. And, well, she let herself feel for Daredevil...let herself...care. Caring for others left you open, left you vulnerable, invited the opportunity to completely fuck up and risk your own safety. No, she was better alone. Always had been. Fuck...get up off the floor. 

She somehow managed to steady her shaking legs underneath her, knees wobbling into each other with each clumsy step she took, oxygen still finding its way back to her limbs now that her breathing was under control. Okay, slightly under control... Just outside Daredevil's bedroom, just off to the right, her right, not yours, unless you were standing behind her, then yes, your right, too. 

Much like everything else in Daredevil's apartment, the door to the mysterious room was industrialized, paint worn thin, chipping off in perfectly appropriate places that gave it just the right sense of age and hipster decor. Fuck, she loved it. Even the modernly, wait, is that a word?, rusted doorknob just added to the whole appeal. How much did this guy pay a month to live here?! What the hell did he do for a living?!

She clenched her fist a few times, almost testing out her strength, to see if the numbing pins and needles sensation that was left lingering around had finally left for good. Her skin felt raw against the chipping paint, knocking softly. Even with the softest brush her knuckles made somehow echoed in the wide space of the semi-barren apartment.

The silence behind the door was even louder. 

Those damn breaths she had struggled so fiercely to get back caught and stuck in her throat, like peanut butter coated her esophagus and the carbon dioxide she so desperately needed to expel melted and sunk into the creamy goo. The kind of sludge that only the coldest glass of milk could ever possibly compete with. Really, food...at a time like this? 

She knocked again. Harder this time.

Silence.

Well, get ready for the worst fucking possible scenarios to flicker across her mind...aanndd go!

Another knock, and the very repetitive silence that follows, somehow started to annoy her, just a small, hairline fracture of a bit...wait, this motherfucker broke my fucking face. No. Stop it. 

She huffed out an overly dramatic breath, stepping her left foot back, bouncing her weight onto the balls of her feet, hands up in her southpaw stance...no real reason for the hands to be up, but...instincts, okay? Fuck off. She stared a pretty significant hole into the middle of the door before swinging all of her momentum through her left foot, connecting perfectly centered in that burned out hole. The door splintered, yelling harshly against her violent motions. The paint chipped even more under the soles of her worn out sneakers, glittering vibrantly in the sudden contrast the hospital white shine of the flourescent lights in the bathroom to the still dimly lit yellowed hue of the living room. The fact that the bathroom, yup, figured out it was a bathroom, cuz, y'know, science or something...but, the fact that a light was on dug underneath her skin and into her nerves in every unpleasant way possible. 

That's not right. 

But...all of that tingling, irking, scratching numbed and froze over when she saw the bloodied lump slumped onto the floor. The mirror just underneath those migraine inducing flourescent lights was cracked, splintering and weaving its own way into abstract spiderwebs across the reflecting surface. Her face stretched and split into thousands of pixels as she gaped at her own mirrored image in front of her, taking in the full scene. Circular indents painted like polka dots between the glass webbing. Fragments trickled down to the porcelain sink below, shimmering like stars in the forgotten night skies that one can never really find anymore this deep in the city. Littering against the tile floor, surrounding and encasing the barely covered parts of Daredevil's body, blood stuck the broken pieces in their awkward places. But, why was the light on? Why was there even a light IN here? Wait, he must have friends, right? Or...must have HAD friends? Friend? Person? Random Passerby? Stranger? Fuck...Someone?! 

She glared down at the barely conscious pile of what seemed to be a human at the base of the bathtub. 'What the fuck are you doing to yourself?' She knelt down, careful to not press any discarded glass into anyone's skin...hers or his. Pressed tightly into his left hand, a large shard of the mirror stuck out in a very not-pleasing-to-look-at-way. Blood still trickled out from the spaces his skin just couldn't seem to fill around the foreign glass. Scratches and scrapes danced across his already distorted skin, adding extra layers of torture to his body. 

"What are you doing to yourself?" 

The tile walls bounced her words back to her, reverberating inside of her ears, making her wince at the sudden noise. Tile walls make things echo. Echoes hurt. Not sure if that had much to do with her ears or her pention for becoming overstimulated very quickly. Fuck off about squirrels and ADHD. Without her Adderall, the world hurt a lot...a LOT...sometimes. This was one of those times... The echo, the bright lights, the scent of blood...nope. Deep breath. Get through this. 

To her amazement, and her continuing surprise at being amazed at herself from this dickweed who can't seem to stop getting himself into trouble, she was able to pry the shard from his skin and subdue the bleeding. Thankfully, this guy had a semi-hospital in the vanity beneath the sink. Gauze wraps and tapes and pads, even saline flushes and IV bags. Each item had raised bumps stuck to them. She ran her fingers over each one, delicately falling into the mystery of what it must be like to read with your fingers. She, of course, found herself lost in the soft touches, the soft ridges the bumps and indents made against the packages. 

Guy.  
Bleeding.  
Behind you. 

\----------------------

After Tilly, M.D. finished patching up Daredevil, D.S. (Dumb shit), and hauling him out to the couch, she propped him up against the cushions, shoving a sweatshirt over his darkly filled head, and yanking a pair of the softest pair of sweatpants she could find. Seriously, where does this guy shop!? She turned back to the bathroom, slight double homicide of a murder scene congeling into the cracks and crevices of the tile flooring, her exhaustion and frustration blended into one long, very appropriate sigh. She shook her head and slammed the door closed. That mess is definitely for future Tilly to deal with. Haha, fucker. 

Looking down at the unconscious heap on the couch, her mind started to wander back to the thought if this guy actually had someone in his life that cared about him. Someone must have, at least once. No pictures to go by. No trinkets or anything to hint that this guy had a life outside of these walls. If she hadn't known about his extra curricular activities...she honestly could easily believe he was a recluse...a very smelly, drunken, recluse. Mental note...remind him to shower. Or bath. Or dab on some deodorant. Okay, focus. He has to have a phone somewhere, right? They make fancy phone apps for people like her who can't hear shit. They h a v e to make fancy phone apps for people like him who can't see shit. Right? 

It took her a solid twenty minutes to snoop, pry and snoop some more to find the smart phone tucked into the furthest corner of his bedroom, buried under a pile of clothes that could probably use about 3 rounds in the washer. With all of the detergent she could carry in her arms. Dead. Fucking of course. 

Another 15 minutes spent searching for the damn charger. 

Another ten minutes spent pacing, staring, jamming fingers against the black screen like the petulent child she, more than she would like to admit, becomes when she's expected to wait. 

Ahh, finally. The ever familiar glow of the screen powering on. Please don't have a passcode. Please don't have a passcode. Please don't have a passco...fuck. Fingerprint passcode. Wait! There's a stupidly blacked out unconscious man with said fingerprint just outside the door. 'I love when a plan comes together.' 

Clichè. Don't do that again. 

She softly pressed his thumb against the phone, watching as the lock screen exploded and faded to the home screen. Good work, Daredevil. Yup, she even gave a quick pat to his head. 

She curled up on the floor beside his head, legs curling underneath herself. Flipping through the phone, she landed on text messages. The last message was sent four months ago. Four months. So someone named Foggy. Foggy? Shit, Tilly doesn't sound so bad now. 

Without putting too much thought into just how invasive her next actions would actually be, she clicked onto Foggy's name and the entirety of their past conversations filled the screen. From what she could gather, from just quickly reading through their shifting tones and lengths of responses, this Foggy Guy, Person, Thing?, seemed to know Daredevil. So, she was right. He d i d have a friend...a person...a whatever in his life. And right now, Daredevil, or is he this Matty guy?, needed all the help he could get. And she was definitely starting to believe she sure as shit wasn't it...

 

*New Message  
Supposed Matty Person : Hey*

*Person Strangely Named Foggy : (not even 20 seconds later) Matt?!*  
*Hey!*  
*Hi!*

Score one for Detective Tilly, M.D. Also, dude...one message works just fine. 

*Okay So Definitely Matty : You around?*

*Person Still Strangely Named Foggy : Yeah, buddy. What's up? Why are you texting? Want me to call?*

*Need To Give Him Shit For The Name Matty : Meet up? My apartment?*

*Winning All Kinds Of Points In Tilly's Book Even Though Your Name Is Foggy : Be there in 20.*

 

For someone that this Matty/Daredevil guy hasn't spoken to in months...four months...Foggy seems like a stand-up guy to seemingly be dropping everything at...5FUCKING30 in the morning. She gave an overextended once over to Matty/Daredevil Guy on the couch before rushing up the stairs towards the roof. Fuck. After the events of the night, she needed her moment of calm. 

She dipped and dangled her feet out over the ledge, feeling the cool concrete moldings press through her jeans. She bounced her heels against the brick exterior, plucking her aids out of her ears. With what little she had left of her nails, she pried the battery encasing out, turning the world off for just a few moments. 

The sun was just starting to peek across the silhouettes the buildings shadows made along the city landscape. The softest orange broke against the dark sky, blotting out the few stars that could outshine the city sheet of flourescent street lights. She twirled the rubber of her 'ears' through her fingers. Such a terrible habit, she knows, bending and prying the rubber in ways they shouldn't be. But, this was where she found her calm, her peace, her few moments of clarity in her chaotic, scattered mind. 

Just as the oranges started to bleed into a fire red and soft pinks and delicate purples, a yellow car turned around a corner a few blocks down. At the rate the cab seemed to be moving, she wouldn't be surprised if the tires had squealed against the pavement. The cab screeched to a halt just beneath her feet. The sound was enough against the sleeping city to reach even her shit for ears. The sound waves carried, vibrating inside of her skin, dancing around her bones. From the back of the cab, a shaggy haired man stumbled out, tripping on his own feet, attempting to run towards the apartment building seemingly before his legs understood what was happening. 

From the short interactions she has had with this Foggy character, Tilly could already feel herself liking him more and more. And then, she could feel herself slowly becoming more and more angry and frustrated with how shitty of a friend Matty must have been, or just exactly what kind of terrible mind frame he must be in to go through all of whatever this is, when he has such a seemingly good friend literally at his fingertips. She shook her head before letting the feeling dig in too deeply, pushing up off the rooftop and trudging towards the roof access door.


	13. What He Does At Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy shifted awkwardly in the doorway, eyes nearly bulging from their sockets. Tilly wasn't sure if it was the sight of some stranger in this person Foggy knows apartment, or if the cracked eye socket was starting to finally bruise up. Totally forgot...that fucking asshole broke my face...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally caught up to where Foggy finds the bathroom in the interesting condition Matt and Tilly had left it in.

Tilly had just set her foot down onto the floorboards in the apartment when very, very energetic and frantic fists knocked against the apartment door. An equally energetic and frantic...and gasping for breath...voice echoed against the silent interiors. 

"Matt! Open up!"

Nope. Still an unconscious lump made up of a sweatshirt and sweatpants, curled up into a tiny human ball on the couch. His hair pressed against his forehead, the fear soaked sweat from a short time ago had dried it to his skin in every which way. His eyes were still slammed shut, crinkling the corners of his eyes, almost as though he was forcing the world out of his already darkened surroundings. She didn't even pretend to soften her footsteps. Wait, not sure he even deserves to be called Matt anymore...now that the name Matty exists in her world... Before she could turn the doorknob, Strangely Named Foggy started hammering and yelling again. 

"Matty, c'mon open up. I got your text, so I know you're..."

She swung the door open, the wind of the door gusting past her, softly tracing her hair across her face. She hadn't noticed the strands that had sprung free from the messy bun she had pulled it back into so many hours ago. Having to literally stop Daredevil from fighting off other people to having to stop Daredevil from fighting you...can really ruin a girl's hair day. Tilly was, however, still managing to have a better hair day than this Foggy shape in front of her. The way his hair twisted and protested against gravity sent a giggle up from her throat, catching at her teeth. She couldn't laugh in this guy's face. She had just woken him up, pretending to be a close...good...somewhat known?...friend. She figured she could cut him a little slack... He did get here pretty fast. 

"Oh, uhm, hey sorry. Is uhm...hey, I'm Fog. No, that's not right...Foggy. Yeah! Uhm. Is...err...that guy that lives here...uhm..."

Foggy shifted awkwardly in the doorway, eyes nearly bulging from their sockets. Tilly wasn't sure if it was the sight of some stranger in this person Foggy knows apartment, or if the cracked eye socket was starting to finally bruise up. Totally forgot...that fucking asshole broke my face...

"Hi Foggy."

That fucking asshole decides NOW to wake up? Fine. Whatever. Tilly stepped aside as Foggy beamed an overly eager shit eating grin across his face. Well, if that didn't make him look even more adorably disheveled...

Foggy plopped his jacket down onto the small table just inside the door, spinning on the heels of his worn out brown boots, whitened scuff marks decorating the fading brown tone, turning to face Tilly.

"Sorry, let me try that again. Hi. I'm Foggy."

He held out his hand for her. Wow. Gentleman. So much better at this human stuff than the makeshift Devil on the couch. Wait, fuck. Now she was supposed to reveal her name? She had done so well at keeping that little factoid to herself, never letting it sleep around Daredevil...because, yknow, anonymity. And she sure as shit knew fuckhead was awake, because he finally managed to say something other than about something not being real. Okay, that was a dick thing to say. Mentally say sorry.

Sorry.

She firmly placed her hand into his, shaking it up and down a few times. Wow, his hands are soft.

"Hi Foggy. Tilly."

"Tilly, huh? What kind of name is that?"

A fucking nickname. 

"Says the one who calls himself Foggy..."

Ha.

"It's a nickname. It's actually Franklin...but..."

Well, shit. I might like Franklin better...

"Maybe mine's a nickname too."

Still keeping that a secret, ass. 

"Is it...like short for something?"

No.

"No."

That time, she couldn't help but let the smirk crease across her lips, indenting the subtle dimples in the corner of her mouth. The sass was starting to finally wake up. She had a feeling she was going to be diving head first into that favorite past time of hers...seeing just how frustrating she can truly be to someone without getting punched. (She figured since she had already been punched, it was pretty much fair game at this point now.) 

"But, wait...how does Tilly even work as a nickname? If it's not short for something, then what is it a play off of?" 

She felt the smirk fading slightly. ...slightly.

"Foggy sounds nothing like Franklin." 

"I never said it did."

Ooooo. 

"True."

She purposely let the air fall into an awkward silence. Nope. Still not answering it. 

"How do you know Matt? And uh..."

He lifted his finger, pointing quickly at her cheek, definitely swollen, more than likely, yes, bruised. Especially if this Franklin guy noticed it. Frank? Franky? No. Foggy sounds way better. 

Damn. The actual look of concern filling his soft eyes, looking over her purpling features...ugh, Matt...friends like these don't come around very often. 

Wait. Does he know about Matt? Like...KNOW about Matt? Daredevil? Fuck...

"I know what he does at night...by the way." 

Phew. That could have been super awkward...unintentionally...wait...is he a mind reader?! Can he join this super weird club of a blind guy and a deaf chick? An odd mishmash of varying eccentricities... Focus. Rehash the worst meet-cute within the past century...or two...

"Ran into him at this empty warehouse just outside the city. Decided to see how it felt to get stabbed and sliced open. Your buddy carried me back and stitched me up." 

She turned on her heels this time, leading the way towards the couch, even though she was sure he knew exactly where Matt was curled up. The morning sun had finally broken over the corners of the buildings outside Matt's apartment, dulling out the harsh yellows that damn fucking billboard made. Couldn't they have picked better colors for it?! 

She gently laid her hand onto Matt's shoulder. He flinched quickly, his entire body tightening underneath her touch. Shit shit shit. Matt must have realized what he had done. Before she had even removed her hand, she could feel the tension in his shoulders fade...slightly. The worried lines etched across his forehead even softened...slightly. Phew.

"Your lug is right here on the couch."

She rounded the corner of the couch, walking towards the chair closest to the large windows, almost too comfortably pressing down into the well-worn cushions. Geez, spend a few nights bleeding across this place, and suddenly, that warrants a person to feel at home. She eyed over to where Matt still laid, curled into the pillow and cushion of the couch. He shifted under her gaze, although she was fairly certain he wasn't actually aware she had moved so close to him. He clenched his left hand underneath the gauze dressing, sliding it underneath his other arm, keeping it hidden from view just as Foggy's body crested the same corner Matt was curled into. 

The look on Foggy's face damn near broke down the decaying brick wall Tilly was struggling so hardheartedly to keep upright. But, bit by bit, she could feel herself starting to crumble under the weight of all of that brick dust, chipping away as the red sands stormed her vision. Fuck...don't get too close...

Foggy settled into the chair just across from Matt, saddened eyes still shifting across Matt's undoubtedly deteriorating form. He even shifted uncomfortably under his own weight against the softness of the cushions, somehow detesting the extra padding his own skin held, in some such way wishing to peel off layers of himself to help heal Matt's breaking shell. He broke his too long of a stare to drop his eyes to the fingers twitching and intertwining in his lap. Guilt. That was that look that was painting so harshly onto Foggy's skin. 

"Wait. Wait. So, you're like him? You have super powers too??"

Foggy's voice pulled Tilly back out of her very intense visual study of this Strangely Named Foggy Person. Ugh. Super powers. She really wishes people would stop calling them that...

"Stop calling them that." Matt huffed.

What?! Holy shit! It lives! It speaks! It's a l i v e! But, stop thinking the same thoughts...it's creepy.

"Sorry. Chemically induced, super sensitive, can hear a FUCKING HEART BEAT DOWN THE FUCKING STREET...senses. Is that better?" 

Tilly could hear the sarcasm drilling off of each of his overly accentuated words. Until she actually focused in on what Foggy was saying. Now, she had an idea that Matt could hear her heartbeat, well, because he said it...off-handedly. But, to hear Foggy say it, to see his face tell it so non-chalantly, in an almost normal conversation...solidified it for her. And to hear that Matt could hear a heartbeat from streets away...and to know that it had been caused by some kind of chemicals? An accident? What the fuck? Was he a Ninja Turtle? Didn't they kind of become...well...ninjas because of some gooey chemical spill? 

A sharp pull stung at her gut. At first, she couldn't tell why...but, it slowly started to sink in. Hearing. To be able to hear something so quiet, so soft, so silent to most people...she found herself longing for the days before that damn fucking explosion stole everything from her. As much as her ears subtly reminded her of her Henry...they could never make up for the charred remains burnt inside of her core where her family used to keep her whole. 

"You can hear a heart beat down the street?" 

The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could reel them back in. 

"Creepy, right?" Foggy cut in.

Matt groaned. Shut up, Matt. Heart wrenching memory lane road trip right now...

"Creepy isn't the word I'd use..." 

Her words were soft against her fake ears. Fake. Not real. Slightly robotic, mechanical extension of herself that she had become so accustomed to, but never asking for. She had, over the years, never allowed herself to become angry, or bitter, about what happened. Her mother had always taught her that no amount of self-pity, or even self-loathing, would wash away the things thay have been done. The only person left hurting is the one who can't let it go. She swore to herself, after their deaths, that she would always try to live a life fuller than the ones ripped from her family's hands. 

Even though a lot of things deterred her from trying to live life that way...she still, somehow, in her own off beat way...managed to walk away from those dark demons. Even if they still lurked around inside of her head sometimes, clawing at the surface of her subconscious. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Matt shifted in his fetal position, unfocused eyes shifting across the floor he couldn't see, to land just past her slunken down figure. His brows furrowed, deep thought etching onto his every withdrawn feature. Huh. What was he thinking about? 

Her focus fell down to her own hands, digging into the soft callouses scarred into her skin. She was starting to let her guard down, starting to live in memories she had stuffed so far down into the dustiest corners of her mind...where cobwebs had been abandoned and light had long since lost any motivation to shine its way into. But...even with her head down, she could feel Matt poking his way down into those murky trenches of her head, unquestionably unafraid of the darkness she sometimes fell victim to. Matt being unafraid of her darkness sounded tragically and beautifully ridiculous...but, warmed that cold spot she had frozen inside of her soul... 

Nope. Stop fucking thinking like that. Sass, remember? 

"And, no, I don't have those."

She glared back over to Foggy, amusement smirking across her face again. 

"His...ninja turtle chemicals." 

She waved her hand over in Matt's direction, circling the air around him, letting a faint memory of her brothers and their love for Ninja Turtles flood back to her. 

"Mine...an explosion." 

Her voice shook. She steeled herself, refusing to let the same horrible nightmare flash in her mind. Shut that shit down. 

"But, you do what he does." Foggy said, eyes narrowly focusing on her now. 

"I AM sitting right here, you know..." Matt mumbled from across the room. 

Whoa. Forgot he was awake a few minutes ago. Hey, buddy. What's up. Welcome to the fucking conversation...

"In a way, I guess...I can feel things, and smell things...have to take in a whole picture from constantly seeing what's around me. These things aren't always the most reliable..." 

She tapped at one of her hearing aids. The sudden contact caused feedback, so soft that she was sure only she could hear it. Wait. Nope. Matt definitely heard it. She saw his skin flex and his body jump, if only slightly, off of the couch. Foggy definitely hadn't noticed either reaction. His eyes were still gawking over towards her, an odd combination of awe and disbelief on his face. 

"I swear to god, if you say some shit about a world being on fire..." Foggy groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. 

Not entirely sure the reference Foggy seemed to be making, picking up on the subtle hint of an inside joke between Foggy and Matt that she wasn't actually a part of, but could sense the sarcasm attempting to hide the hurt behind that statement...not sure if either were intentional. 

"...sounds uncomfortable." 

What? It honestly does...

A small laugh from Matt cut through her vivid imagery of her entire surroundings suddenly engulfed in flames, licks of oranges and yellows and reds dancing along her skin and across the floor. Oh. Glad to know he was still listening. Because...up to this point...he has been soo lively... 

Pretty sure she pulled a muscle rolling her eyes, wincing slightly from the sting from her eye, not so subtly reminding her of her broken face. 

"And please...pleeeaasse tell me that you can't hear my heart beat..." 

That makes, what, two...three...times? She'll take that as confirmation Matt absolutely can hear them. 

"They're just hearing aids, Foggy. Not some supersonic microphone..." She couldn't help smiling at him. He was just so inviting, so warm. She still couldn't wrap her head around this very opposite attracts friendship. "But, no, I can't hear your heart beat."

Foggy sighed, relaxing back into the chair cushions. His own features seemed to soften at Tilly's admission. The warmth was almost radiately off of him, pulling Tilly into a sense of calm she wasn't sure Foggy even knew he was emitting. Maybe that's what made the friendship work between Matt and Foggy. Matt, the cold, shut down, sarcastic asshole. Foggy, the warm, shining, arms wide open, will love you no matter what. What the hell caused such a rift between them that forced someone like Foggy to keep his warmth from Matt? 

"Ugh, thank god..." 

Whelp, if he's gonna be sarcastic about what Matt can do...well, let's see what happens when she lets him in on her little secret... Just for shits and giggles. 

The smile broke across her face before she even started, amusing herself already. 

"But, your left index finger twitches when you're thinking of something before you say it. Your breathing increased from 16 breaths a minute to 22 since this conversation started. Its more shallow now, too. You haven't washed that shirt since the last time you wore it, which seems like it was a week ago, from the stain on the right bottom hem in the front. You tried to fix the second to last button from the bottom, but gave up after four stitches and just tied 5 knots to hold it in place. You're wearing 2 different socks, one clean, one dirty. Your eyes shift to the right of someone's mouth when you finish listening to what they said. You focus on Matt's mouth more closely when he talks as opposed to when I talk, showing how much you actually care about him, giving him your full attention. You pick at your hangnails. You have two fresh ones you picked on the cab ride over here. You put more weight on your right leg than you do your left when you walk. Could be from the wad of gum under your shoe. Smells like spearmint. And you keep licking your lips because you're nervous about all of this stuff I'm saying to you." Tilly let out a labored breath. 

Foggy had stiffened, stunned, sitting forward in his chair, mouth gaping open. His eyes were wide, glued onto her like she just performed the World's Greatest Magic Trick. Matt even look borderline shocked, his mouth hanging slightly open, unfocused eyes even widening a bit. 

"Oh, and you should have put deodorant on before you came over." 

She smirked at Foggy again, letting the full extent roll over him. She could see Foggy's throat bob up and down quickly, swallowing a few times before slamming his mouth back closed. His hands pressed against the sides of the chair, pushing himself up from the chair quickly. He started pacing back and forth between the spaces of the chair he was sitting on and the couch Matt still clung to. Foggy's head shook side to side, rustling his bed head even more. 

"No. Not cool. The fucking two of you... Seriously?! Can't a man have a little privacy?" 

He looked back and forth between Tilly and Matt, disbelief wreaking havoc on those once warm features. He turned, heels squeaking abruptly on the wood floors. He half walked/half ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him without even looking back.

Tilly couldn't help but laugh at Foggy's reaction. She chanced a glance at Matt...and...holy shit...he was smiling!? Okay, maybe it was the tightest lipped smirk she had possibly ever seen on someone before, but it was one of the first few signs that Matt was, contrary to her own very popular belief, an actual human. The smirk softened his hardened features, releasing the tension that had been living across his forehead and around his eyes. 

It made him look...

Oh, fuck! The bathroom! The blood. The glass. The double murder homicide scene she hadn't had the chance to clean up yet. Her smile dropped, her body tensing too quickly for comfort. Her eyes widened, taking in Matt's mirrored response, the tension returning back to his forehead, eye brows raising in absolute panic, eyes unfocusing and flittering all along the air between them, breath halting in his throat. She even forgot to breathe...

"Oh, fuck."


	14. Trademark Pending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This empty shell of Matt Murdock...brought to you by one Franklin "Foggy" Nelson...trademark pending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foggy and Matt's friendship a little bit, from Foggy's POV. 
> 
> This one has a scene of night terrors and Foggy dealing with it, and a little bit of self-harm depicted...if that's an issue.

Foggy flipped on the lightswitch, turning the flourescent lights on, the ones he had to convince Matt to get...for his seeing friends... "Not everyone can piss in the dark, Matt..." 

Foggy's heart skipped, fluttering violently beneath his ribcage. The air, stale and bitter, stung the lining in his lungs, forcing them to freeze any attempts at gasping for any breath. The softness that usually lived within his eyes melted, draining the life away, letting the images in front of him flood into his head, seering the memories deep into his brain. 

Blood traced along the side of the bathtub, flowing down the cracking grout between the tiles, mixing against the shattered pieces of the broken mirror. He could see the indents of where fists met the reflective surface before it gave in and crashed all around. 

Inhale.

Oxygen pried into the muscles inside his chest. His head, fuzzy and distorted from the lack of air, shook from side to side. His lips quivered, a soft voice escaping them, barely sounding like his own.

"No no no no no no no..."

He knew Matt had struggled with his head. He knew because he had been there so many times for it. He remembers the far off looks Matt would get. No, they were different than his usual unfocused glances. These were...distant...as though Matt could still see something in front of him...something that nobody else could, that caused the hard earned warmth to slowly ice over. Foggy had tried so hard to unbury Matt from his own self. Pieces had trickled out, showing that Matt had truly begun to trust Foggy with the darkest parts of himself, and Foggy committed every single one to his own personal memory data...relishing in the fact that Matt allowed Foggy to have them...as terrible as the memories were. 

He remembers their first week in college. He was lucky to be roomed with someone like Matt. Sure, Foggy was loveable, likeable, easy to talk to, charming in the most innocent of ways...but, much to his own dismay, he never could solidify a strong friendship with anyone. Yeah, he had friends, and people he would hang out with, always having a good time...because, well, Foggy was that kind of person. He enjoyed life and would be damned to miss a moment of it. But, having someone in his life he could trust and know would always be there for him, like he would for anyone...he was missing. Until that shaggy haired guy opened the door and instantly smiled at him. 

Foggy hadn't really put much thought into Matt being blind past the first few minutes of meeting him. Yeah, the guy was blind. Some things in life aren't worth seeing sometimes...they're better felt anyways. But, Matt was...he was just so...easy. It was easy to like him, to want to know him, to trust him. Foggy had always been the type to put his faith in the wrong people, the innocent naivety always bled out of him, and always ended up costing him in the long run. But, with Matt, it was different...sincere...real. 

That first month, they became inseparable, minus the time they spent in the very few different classes fate somehow planned. Aside from that, every moment was spent together, joking around, eating the shittiest foods, drinking the cheapest beers and laughing until their stomach muscles wretched. 

Matt and Foggy had talked and talked and started to know one another, but a lot of it was mostly one-sided, especially about their childhoods. Foggy spilled almost every detail about his family, while Matt kept majority of his sealed away. Foggy knew about Matt's accident, he knew about Matt's Dad, he knew his Mom wasn't around, and he knew Matt spent the rest of his childhood in an orphanage...but, that was it. The finer details were locked tightly in some jar, in the deepest, darkest corners of Matt's mind, unsure if they were ever teetering on the edges of some warped, creeking shelves, begging gravity to keep them upright, keep them safe. 

But, the last night of the first month...something shifted in their friendship. Foggy, still, to this day, is unsure Matt even noticed it the way he did. It was a Saturday. The two of them had gone out drinking at some frat house on campus. Foggy was always proud that he could hold his liquor. He quickly learned Matt absolutely could not. They were only at the party for a few hours before Foggy found himself lugging the lush along the walkways of the campus, leading him back to their dorm. Once inside, Matt fumbled with taking his clothes off, climbing into bed in just his boxers. The level of comfort formed between the two of them extended towards exposed skin. Foggy never cared that he would undress in front of Matt. Hell, Matt couldn't see anyways. And, surprisingly, Matt never cared that he would undress in front of Foggy. So, Matt falling face first onto his own bed in just his underwear was nothing unusual for the two of them. Foggy quickly followed, undressing and falling against the covers of his own bed and letting the fuzzy world of what was left of the alcohol in his system swallow him whole, escaping into the warm darkness of sleep within just a few minutes. 

It must have been only three hours later when Foggy was pulled out of his fuzzy warm dreams. The world was harsh, unforgiving. The effects of the alcohol hadn't fully worn off, but the mind splitting traces of the impending hangover started to weave their way in. Which was why the sound filling his ears was painful, sending an uneasy shiver down his spine. 

Screaming.  
Whimpering.  
Begging.  
Screaming.  
Screaming.  
Screaming.  
Screaming.

It was coming from across the room, billowing out into the silence of the night, echoing all around it's source...Matt. 

Foggy's eyes shot open, sitting up in his hed just as quickly. The world no longer blurred around him, his adrenaline snuffing out the last drops of alcohol in his, now, roaring blood. His heart threatened to pound out of his chest, crashing wildly against the bones of his ribcage. His breaths came in like and out like acid, the churn of his stomach boiling beneath his lungs. 

Night terrors.

Foggy had heard about these before. Once. But, any knowledge he had been able to once recall...oozed out of his mind, pooling into the frozen puddle of blankets and pillows securing him into place, unmoving. 

Screaming.  
Whimpering.  
Sobbing.  
Screaming.  
Begging.  
Screaming.  
Screaming.

Silence.

Foggy leapt from his bed, padding over to Matt's, adrenaline fading and fear replacing, numbing his limbs. His knees wobbled as he outstretched his hand. By the time he laid his hand on the sweaty surface of Matt's back, Foggy's mind had suddenly resurfaced the most crucial piece of information he had learned about night terrors.

Don't fucking touch them! 

Matt sprung from his bed, jerking violently away from Foggy's touch, landing with unsteady feet on the surface of the mattress, swaying with the uneven surface the bed creaked with. Panic had settled into Matt's hazel eyes, stained with reddened sleeping sobs, flickering all around the dimly lit room. Foggy tried to narrow down what exactly it was Matt was looking at, but grew dizzy trying to keep pace with his unfocusing gazes. Foggy watched as Matt's bared chest heaved quickly, too quickly, way too quickly. Matt's hands were lifted, fists clenched tight enough to whiten his knuckles, almost ready to attack something Foggy can't see. And Foggy could feel himself slowly start to panic as well. 

"Hey, it's me, Matty, it's Foggy. You're okay. Just breathe...just breathe..."

Foggy was almost certain the last part of that statement was meant for him, just as much as it was meant for Matt. The two of them just stood there, chests heaving, breaths hitching, bodies shaking, minds racing, and hearts pounding...staring silently at one another...well, staring silently at and around one another... 

He wasn't entirely sure of the time it was, but Foggy was more than sure at least 96 hours passed them by. It wasn't until Matt's body gave way under his panic-driven exhaustion that Foggy could feel the stiffness in his bones from standing so still for so long. Foggy practically had to leap forward to catch the falling lump formerly known as Matt Murdock. 

Matt slumped against Foggy, the sweat coating his bared skin had turned uncomfortably cold, and the shivers emanating from his muscles were ragged, erratic, whole body convulsions. Whimpers still escaped from his lips as the tear marks dried along his cheeks. Foggy pulled Matt close to him, hoping his own overheating body warmth could soothe Matt back from whatever ledge his body was teetering on. Foggy laid back in Matt's bed, Matt curling close into Foggy's chest, hands fisted into the fabric of Foggy's shirt, clinging desperately as though Foggy might vanish within the next moment. And it broke Foggy's heart, shattering loudly in his own ears. 

Another 96 hours must have passed them by, because Foggy still couldn't tell what time of day...night...it actually was. There only really was one thing he could focus on, and that was the slowly, calming sounds of Matt's breathing...his chest no longer slamming into Foggy's side with each inhale he had been deliriously taking. Foggy shifted under the dead weight Matt had become atop his chest, looking down to see the furrowed eyebrows still pulled tensely together, but the unfocused eyes had lowered and gave in under the weight of his eyelids, sleeping slowly winning over. Foggy shifted again, sliding further down into the bed, pulling Matt closer to his body, still unclear how that was possible, as Matt had wrapped himself like an octopus, arms and legs twisted around Foggy's frame with a surprising amount of strength. 

It was okay. Foggy was okay. Matt was okay. They were okay. It was okay...

But, that was years ago. And Matt never had another night terror again...at least, when Foggy was there. Foggy still knew Matt struggled. He could see it in his face sometimes. Before he ever found out about Matt and all the things he could actually do...Foggy could sometimes see the world push down too harshly onto Matt's shoulders. And Matt, the stubborn asshat he is, refused to let on that he was ever struggling. Anytime Foggy would mention something to Matt, ask him in the softest voice he could muster 'you okay, buddy?'...Matt would always shrug his shoulders, smile that half smile of denial, and bring up some pointless topic of conversation to avoid ever acknowledging his own feelings. Foggy used to sigh. He used to sigh a LOT when it came to Matt doing this. But, it just became the norm between them. But, Foggy always would steal an extended glance after Matt would smile innocently at him, taking in the self shifting details of Matt and the things he clearly wasn't going to express about himself. Foggy kept a close eye on him without hovering. Or, so he thought. 

A part of him had always hated himself for not noticing Matt's nightly activities before that day in Matt's apartment...when Foggy found Matt half dead on the floor. He was hurt, Foggy was, to find out that Matt kept this entire part of his life...the entire HUGE...part of his life a secret from Foggy. Yeah, Matt would try and tell Foggy that it was to protect him and that Foggy shouldn't worry about him...and all Foggy could manage to feel was hurt. But, he started to understand and forgive Matt for it, having come to realize there were still so many pieces of Matt that he kept hidden, and that he couldn't honestly hold it against Matt to still be so guarded. ...even if it did still hurt a bit...

But, standing in Matt's bathroom...surrounded by Matt's blood and violent outbursts...Foggy couldn't help but feel that hurt bubble back up into his throat, welling tears into his eyes. Matt was suffering somehow, and Foggy couldn't fix it. And this...this was so much more than a night terror...and Foggy knew he couldn't just wrap Matt around him and hold him until he fell asleep. 

Wiping at the threatening downfall of large, unmanly tears...Foggy opened the door to the bathroom, holding the knob in his hand as he stared out at Matt on the couch, deliberating what his next actions would be. Matt looked horrified, panicked even. His eyes even tried to focus in towards Foggy, almost begging him to understand. Foggy let go of the doorknob and walked towards Matt, grabbing at his tucked in arms, pulling them out in the air between them. Matt didn't even wince. His limbs went out in front of him pliantly...too pliantly. It made Foggy's stomach curl. His eyes widened at the sight of the freshly bloodied gauze wrapped around his left hand...and Foggy swallowed, trying to force that lump back down his throat before he could choke on it. He slid the sleeves of the sweatshirt up Matt's thinning arms. Foggy dropped them both almost instantly, his stomach somersaulting internally, the blood draining from his entire body, seeping through the cracks of the floor, the air dissipating around him. He stumbled back towards the chair, falling too quickly into the cushions, thudding soundly atop the floor. 

"Wha...wha...what?"

Foggy's voice croaked, breaking under the stress of actually speaking. His eyes just stared, wide and unflinching. No. His best friend was withering away...whatever demons he was fighting in his head...Foggy hadn't been there to help him. This was all of his fault. And...all over again...Foggy could hear his heart shattering in his ears...uncaring if Matt could hear the destruction. 

He failed. He had failed his best friend...and now...with some weird girl next to him...someone who apparently had been there for Matt when he was too stubborn to be...he had to drink in the discarded images of who his best friend used to be. 

This empty shell of Matt Murdock...brought to you by one Franklin "Foggy" Nelson...trademark pending.


	15. It Wasn't Your Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Twelve years ago. You went to visit one of my foster fathers down by the railroad tracks..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit more of a look into Tilly's connection with Matt...heavily influenced by the scene from the show specifically. (Am I supposed to say I don't own any of the characters or something like that? Okay, I don't. Marvel, don't be mad at me.) 
> 
> Also, Matt says some things in reference to suicide, so, please, be aware.

Matt tucked his hands back into his chest, fingers closed tightly around the gauze on his left hand, pushing more blood out of his still unhealed hand. The warmth spreading across his skin felt...calming. He tried to not focus on the glazed eyes gazing at him from across the living room. He could taste the tears cresting in Foggy's eyes, hear the stutter of his heartbeat, and feel the tension radiating throughout his body. And...there, across the way...that humming noise. Oh, right, that girl, no...Tilly...was here, too. Tilly. Such a weird fucking name...

"Matty...what the fuck is going on?" 

Ugh, Foggy's voice cracked and the sound of it almost shattered Matt's shaky facade of willpower and sheer stupid stubborness. 

"Matty...buddy...I need to know you're okay in that head of yours. I can't read all your inner stuff like you can."

"I can't read minds, Foggy."

Matt wasn't entirely sure he didn't chip away a few layers of his teeth grinding the words out through them... The muscles in his jaw started to protest at the pressure they made clenching together so tightly. He could hear the scraping of skin against skin as Foggy rubbed at his own face in absolute frustration. 

"Jesus...fuck...Matty, c'mon. Work with me here. You're kind of scaring the fucking piss outta me..."

Matt laughed. Laughed. Actually laughed. And he could feel the red hot rage boil out from Foggy's every pore. 

"Are you fucking kidding me, Matt?!? You actually just fucking laughed at me showing concern for your fucking well-being? Ha. Wow. Here I am beating myself up for being such a shitty friend these past few months...and now I remember every fucking reason why I pulled away. Because you stopped giving a fucking shit and I couldn't stand by and watch you do this to yourself night after night anymore."

Matt pressed his lips together tightly, suppressing another asshole laugh directed towards Foggy. He didn't actually mean to laugh at Foggy...just at the idea that somebody should be giving as much of a shit about what happens to him. Matt actually found himself hating the moments when he realizes he's waking up to a new day...and didn't somehow stop breathing and croak in his fucking sleep. 

"You do realize that what you're doing is considered suicidal, right? Do you even fucking understand that, Matt?"

Matt clenched his jaw. 

'I'm surprised I haven't jumped off of my fucking roof yet. I can barely breathe. I feel like my heart is gonna beat right out from under my ribs. I don't even feel the pain when I let whatever piece of shit square up and clock me. When I LET them. I'm not even trying anymore. What's the fucking point in trying anymore. It's not like any of you are even gonna fucking miss me. What fucking good have I ever brought to anyone's life? I'm nothing but darkness and disease and despair. Stop wasting your fucking time with me and let me get it over with already.'

"No." 

Matt could hear the stutter in Foggy's heartbeat as he denied it...contradicting every rushing thought in his head. He could almost feel the pain buried between the beats. 

Almost.

If he could still feel...

Soft humming buried into ears. He tried to lose himself in the comfort he usually found in them. He could only taste the anger boiling in his throat. 

"And why the fuck do YOU care?"

Tilly shot her head back from the window that was stealing most of her focus at that moment. Her eyes glistened with a fuzzy hue Matt could barely detect...tears?, swirling within the swelling of her eyes. Foggy had caught himself staring into them when he first met Tilly, but now he couldn't seem to break his eyes away from Matt. 

"You don't remember me, do you?"

That broke Foggy's gaze.  
That loosened Matt's jaw, if only for a fraction of a moment. 

"What?"

"What?"

Her hands shifted awkwardly in her lap. Her fingers picked unconsciously at one another. Matt could taste the small spots where she peeled away her skin, letting tiny specks of blood breech the surface. She knew he wouldn't be able to stare into her, but she couldn't seem to lift her eyes to look at Matt. 

"Twelve years ago. You went to visit one of my foster fathers down by the railroad tracks..."

Matt winced. He remembered that night so vividly. It was the first night he felt the rush of violence burning beneath his skin. All of the anger and frustration building deep inside of him. Matt had tried so hard to stop that fucking joke of a man from doing what he was doing to that little girl. Matt knew that man was smart, never leaving a mark that anyone could see. 

Matt remembers the way that little girl cried to herself, pressed into the darkest corners of that overfilled house, how fast and afraid her heart thudded. He remembers how many heartbeats he could hear, and could never understand why none of them would help this scared little girl. He could never understand why that woman refused to believe it when Matt had sent cops there. 

Matt remembers how it felt to break that mans jaw. He remembers how it felt when his own skin broke against the mans teeth, just before knocking them free from the mans mouth. Matt remembers how fucking perfect it felt when the night breeze cooled against the blood dripping from his knuckles. 

He remembered how well he had slept that night. And how unbelievably hooked he was in destroying such an evil thing. He had found his own personal drug, and knew he would never be able to kick the habit. The devil inside of him was winning, from that night on.

Matt stared in the general direction of Tilly. He couldn't believe this was the same little girl. He could barely make out the sound of her heartbeat on a good day, let alone from blocks away...not like he had that night. 

"You gave me a month away from him. You gave me a month of not having to be so afraid. It was the most freeing month I had experienced in such a long time..."

She paused, breathing quicker than she intended, trying to settle herself.

"I followed you that night. After you had sent people to the house. I saw you outside of my bedroom window, and I followed you. I watched what you did to him. I watched you protect me..."

Matt can't remember when his jaw had unclenched itself. It had somehow fallen, hung open, drying around his tongue.

Foggy's expression almost mirrored Matt's, remembering the story Matt had told him when Foggy had found him half dead in this same living room. 

Foggy couldn't help but huff at the blatant, familiar situation they were in, yet again. 

Foggy pleading for Matt's life.  
Matt not giving any actual fucks about that very thing. 

'Ha.'

Matt's face twisted back into the grimace he had been wearing these past few hours. 

"Why did you say it like that?"

He could hear her breath hitch.

"What?"

No. Bullshit. 

"What you said...why did you say it like that?"

Her breaths still caught in her throat. Matt could practically feel the lump rising in her throat as she tried to swallow around it. 

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She had shifted her weight on the side of the chair she was curled into. It was too subtle for Foggy to notice. Matt might have missed it too, if he hadn't been so focused in on her. It was the first time since knowing her, this adult version of her, that he could feel and sense and trace every ounce of her. 

He pulled himself up onto the couch, bared feet slamming against the floor, body rigid with angry tension. 

"You said you had a month away from him. A month of not having to be afraid. What did you mean? Why did you say it like that? 

His senses were so intertwined beneath the layers of her skin that he could hear the pull and stretch of her lungs as they grasped for air. He could hear the blood surging through the chambers of her heart. He could even feel the sting of her nerves, tightening all around her. A deep burn raged from within his gut. He couldn't tell if it was from him finally getting a solid grasp on the hidden make up of what made her so mysterious to him, or if it was from the fact that he knew the answer already to his question. 

"What. Did. You. Mean."

She wasted no time, squaring back her shoulders, pulling back deep into herself.

"This isn't about that right now."

"What did you mean?" 

He sat forward, hands gripping his knees, practically growling out his words. 

"This isn't about that. Right. Now. Matt." 

Her words almost dripped with acid as her own anger started to pulse through, emphasizing each last word of her retort.

Before Matt could pull back his own actions, he was standing, breaking the distance between them, finding himself inches from her face. He was burning so intensely that he was sure even she could feel the heat rising from his skin. 

"What the fuck did he do? What the fuck did he do to you? How bad was it? How bad did he hurt you after I tried to stop him...and fucking failed? What the fuck did I make him do to you??!?!"

The words echoed in the sparse living room. Foggy's breath caught in his throat, barely able to process just what the fuck was happening. Tears broke over Matt's wrung out eyes. Tilly couldn't hold her own back anymore, letting them crash against her cheeks, almost sizzling against the heat from both his and her skin. 

"It wasn't your fault."

The words broke within her throat.

"What did he do?"

"Matt, I need you to listen to me. It wasn't..."

The words started to spill out in stuttered sobs, her entire facade crumbling. 

"WHAT THE FUCK DID HE DO TO YOU?!!"

Matt didn't even care if the neighbors complained. He didn't care that he was damn near sobbing around his own words. All he could focus on was the pain in her heartbeat. All he could think about was how he has failed her. That scared little girl. The one he thought he had saved. The one who led him onto the path he is now. The one who helped him help so many others.

And get so many killed.  
And get so many hurt.  
And caused so much more pain.  
And pushed him away from those he loved.  
And bury himself in the darkest parts of his mind.

He had failed that little girl.  
He had failed himself.

What good was he after all? 

Something inside of him snapped. He backed away, eyes flickering to absolutely everywhere at once, taking in absolutely nothing all the same. His hands clenched into tight fists at his side.The skin over his knuckles pulled so tightly he could almost feel the bones pressing out of them. His breaths stuttered out of him. He launched himself towards the staircase up to the roof, skipping steps two at a time.


	16. Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He remembered what Frank had said to him that night of the roof, him chained, unable to break free, unable to run. 
> 
> "We don't get to choose the things that fix us, Red." 
> 
> Was this girl the thing that could fix him? Nobody else could...why would she be able to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some rooftop conversation.   
> Some more of Matt trying to fuck everything up.   
> Some more of Tilly refusing to give in.
> 
> And a moment of vulnerability has Matt caring for Tilly...

Matt's anger seemed to subside with each passing moment up there on that roof. He wasn't sure what was so calming to him, or maybe he just honestly didn't have it in him anymore to care all that much beyond a certain point. The energy he just exerted screaming at some helpless girl about something she had absolutely no control over was more energy than he has even remotely thought about, let alone expel out into the unflinching universe in the past few months. Fuck feelings. 

He let his feet dangle down off of the ledge, feeling the cold concrete press against his bared skin. It had to be close to midnight at this point, but, honestly, time was kind of a fleeting memory at this point. He had lost his grasp on reality a long time ago, and never tried to gain any traction back on it. 

The echoing sounds of the city reverberated through him, settling his overworked nerves and muting his overstimulated senses. That was the excuse, at least, he was giving to himself for not noticing Tilly walking up behind him, seating herself beside him on the ledge. 

They sat there in silence for a while, two minutes, two days, two seconds...again...fuzziness with that time thing... He let the humming from her ears wash over him, soothe his shaky heart. 

"Foggy leave?"

He kept his unfocused gaze out into the groggy city below them, letting the effects of sleep finally win itself over. 

"Yeah."

Her voice was soft, unmarked from his unneccessary venom from earlier. He knows he should probably apologize, but he just couldn't find the energy...or emotional capacity. 

"He say anything?"

Part of him really didn't want to know the answer to that question...

"That I shouldn't really bother anymore. That you'll ruin what's left of me. That I'll damn near destroy myself trying to help you." 

Hmm. Sounds about right. 

"Why are you helping me?" 

Another answer he really didn't want...

"Because, you do a shit job of it yourself. Clearly...you need the help."

He appreciated her sarcasm, he really did. Her attempts at keeping their relationship light hearted. Relationship? Is that right? Did they have one of those? A weird, obviously one-sided relationship slash friendship slash one-of-us-is-definitely-fucked-up...

"But, you don't even know me."

Really. No fucking clue...

"Well, I mean, I know your name at least. And your one hell of a side hobby... And you're fucking stubborn as all hell. Those count for something, right?" 

No. 

"But, why are you helping me? Even the people who know...knew...me don't wanna help me."

It hurt to admit that. 

"No, YOU don't want them to help you." 

Nope. No point anymore.

She had turned to look at him at some point in their awkward attempt at a conversation, entirely his fault for that... He could feel her soft breaths press against his skin, warm in the cooling night air. He could vaguely tell she was studying him, but, then again...all of his senses were warped when it came to this girl. He was mildly aware of his scrapes and scars mashing the overall layout of his face, peeking out from behind his stubble and bedhead mop of hair. 

"What?"

Oh, his annoyance was back.

"What's going on?"

Ugh. Fuck. 

"Currently? Avoiding deep heart to hearts with an almost stranger."

Stop talking. Go back to the shared silence.

"But, Matty...I thought we established that I know you well enough by now."

Ha!

"No. You know my name and what I do. That doesn't mean you fucking know me."

Hell...he doesn't even know himself. Was he that transparent? No. He couldn't be. He built walls on the walls on the walls he lived behind all these years. No. No fucking way. 

"You've got a look in your eyes." 

His eyes, really? 

"Pretty sure they've been called creepy enough to know that I don't get 'looks' in my eyes anymore."

That hurt to admit, too. 

"Well, I don't know who has been telling you that they're creepy... But, you are seriously shit at trying to hide whatever it is you've got brewing up there."

What was that supposed to mean? And why did she say it like that? She doesn't think they're creepy? Bullshit. Everyone does. Fucking liar. He gritted his teeth.

"There's nothing brewing, okay?"

His jaw clenched tighter, feeling the muscles spasm under the found again pressure. 

"Does it have to do with whatever downward spiral you've seemed to throw yourself in the last few months? I mean, when I first saw you in action again, you were kind of a lost puppy, frozen in place..."

"Fucking drop it."

He knew she wasn't going to...

"Seems pretty big of a thing to just drop..."

Ahhh, there it was...her absolute fuckin stubborn willpower to save him. Just...stop.

He shoved himself up off of the ledge, nearly stumbling back on his feet. His head just couldn't wrap around the feeling someone was trying to help him. He had been so alone for so long...then he found Foggy...found Elektra...found Karen...fuck...even Frank. And...they all left him. All of them. He would always end up alone. He even knew his mind was not in the safest of places, but that was always the least of his concerns these days. He knew he was losing himself in his erratic, very dark headspace...but, he was just so tired. So...so...tired. He wanted it all to stop. He wanted everything to just stop. 

Dammit, lost in his thoughts again. She somehow managed to stand up, stopping just inches from him, arms reaching out towards him...

No.   
No.  
No.

He takes her wrists in both of his hands, gripping tighter than necessary. A sudden flash of the night before broke into his memory, the feel of her skin in his hands, the power he was using against her and she still stayed so calm under his grip. He could feel her pulse beating against his clenching fingertips. 

The anger tasted sour as it poured out of his mouth. 

"I said I don't need your fucking help. Just because you stuck some stitches in me and slapped some bandages on me, does not mean you know a fucking thing about me. Or that you deserve any of my trust to tell you a fucking god damn thing about me. I don't fucking care who you are or what you've done for me. The way I see it...it's your fucking fault for getting a knife to your gut. You shouldn't have even been there. I shouldn't have brought you back here. I should have let you bleed out on that fucking warehouse floor. Serves you right for meddling in shit that doesn't concern you. Serves you right for thinking you can fix everyone. I don't want to be fixed. I can't be fixed."

He throws her arms away from him, pushing himself back across the rooftop. crossing his arms angrily over his chest. His mind screamed at him. He knows he shouldn't have said those things. He knows. 

She dropped her arms by her sides, walking softly past him towards the roof access door. He found himself missing the fading sound of the humming in her ears already, the silence of the sleeping city becoming almost too deafening to his overly sensitive ears. 

She stopped, just in the difference between the rooftop and his apartment, hands pressed against the doorframe. Her voice stayed calm, never breaking. He envied her steadiness. 

"You're not the only one who knows how it feels to be swallowed whole by the storms inside of your head." 

She hesitated, unsure if she really even wanted to say her next words. He could hear her breathing steadying with each moment.

"You're not shattered, Matt. You're just a little broken. Broken isn't always the worst thing to be. ...Only when you do it alone. Alone doesn't work. Alone gets you lost in those storms..." 

She turned around slowly, watching as his features softened before hardening back up quickly. 

"Please, don't let the storms inside of you win." 

She crawled down the stairs from his roof access, quietly escaping into the confines of his apartment. He paced. And paced. And paced...walking the length of the roof over and over and over, ledge to ledge. He knew he was losing himself. Last night was his lowest. He knew it. But, he couldn't help himself. The world had just become too much for him this past year. It became too painful the past few months. He couldn't find his way out anymore. 

He remembered what Frank had said to him that night of the roof, him chained, unable to break free, unable to run. 

"We don't get to choose the things that fix us, Red." 

Was this girl the thing that could fix him? Nobody else could...why would she be able to? 

\------------------------

After managing to settle his wrung out, overdramatic nerves, he made the trek down the staircase back into his apartment. Her steady breathing alerted him that Tilly had actually stayed, sleeping on the couch, somehow managing to keep herself in Matt's life...if only to either annoy or save him. Honestly...either or would make sense to him... He quietly padded across the floor, slipping into his bedroom. He slides into a pair of sweatpants, not bothering with a shirt. The humidity of the fast fading night bled through the blotchy patchwork between the large window panes in his apartment. He grabbed a spare blanket from the nearly emptied linen closet across from his bed. Just because he was sticky and uncomfortable, for some reason, he wanted to make sure his nuisance of a couch guest wasn't. That frustrating rhythm of her breathing slowed into an even more calming pace as he draped the fabric across her body. 

He retreated back into his bed, curling the blankets around himself, cacooning himself away from the world. He could feel the heat already swarming around him. He curled the blankets around himself tighter, letting the warmth from his breaths mix with the warmth of his body...creating an uncomfortable sauna melting at his skin. He could feel his breaths picking up, his heart beating a little faster, unallowing his body to regulate its own heat. The swimming sensation in his head muddled any rational thoughts he had left, if he could honestly call them that anymore. It was uncomfortable, almost unbearable, pushing him closer to being unable to properly breathe...but, he was safe from the outside world in here...he was safe...

He needed to believe that illusion. 

\-------------------

His eyes flickered warily in the early morning hours. The slightly silent streets and sidewalks hinted towards the 4am range on the sleeping city's clock, at least he thought. His ears strained at the soft, chaotic mumblings that spilled out erratically, one right after the other. It took him only a moment before realizing the broken and spoken thoughts were echoing in his head from his living room, from his partially occupied couch. 

She had curled herself into half of her size, knees pulled tightly against her chest, fighting against the necessary rise of her chest as her breathing quickened, becoming more shallow, less effective. Her head and fingers twitched frantically in her unconscious state. Softened sobs escaped her frowning lips. If Matt hadn't known it was a 20-something woman on his couch, he would have easily been fooled into believing a small child was curled on the cushion, scared and fighting against some unseen monster. Her heart beat waivered under thready pulses, fear prickling every ounce of her being. 

Matt understood.

He had had night terrors after the accident, after hearing his father's murder. The orphanage never knew what to do with him when it happened, forcing him awake, bringing his vivid fears crashing violently into his reality. He would always awaken drenched in sweat, the overwhelming urge to puke biting at his lips. Once Stick entered into his life, Matt had managed to silence those terrors, or at least fool himself into believing he had, trying to prove himself to Stick, prove that he was strong. 'The fucking asshole left anyways.'

It happened twice while in college, he was aware enough to know that much. Foggy had slept through the first one, thankfully. Foggy even slept through Matt having to strip his fear soaked sheets and change out of his clothes. He didn't sleep for a week after that one. All too tender memories flooded back to him, from the feel of his dead father's face in his hands, to the scent of his father's blood soaked into his skin for days afterwards, no matter how hard he scrubbed. The breaks of his bones when Stick first came to him, to teach him how to fight, echoed so harshly inside his skull. The rush of air of wood breaking against his overly sensitive skin as the nuns at the orphanage finally gave in to their frustrations when it came to him. He had lied awake, shivering in his stripped bed, trying to focus on Foggy's breathing, unable to quiet the storm between his ears, beneath his chest. 

The second time it happened, Matt had been screaming. Foggy woke with a reasonable "holy fucking shit" response. He jumped out of his bed, somehow landing halfway across the room in one leap. He knew enough of night terrors to not wake someone, but the sound of absolute pain and torture howling from deep in Matt's lungs pulled at every vibrating nerve in Foggy's body. He painted "shhs" and "it's okay Matty" across Matt's contorting body, hoping, praying that any soothing words could coax Matt back from the horror in his head. He hated that he knew what was happening, but his body wouldn't let him react.

Matt screamed for an hour. Angry fists came and went on their dorm room door, dulling out eventually to angry mumbles in the hallways and nearby rooms. The frantic screams dulled into raw yelps. Matt's throat scratching at the air still flooding the open spaces of his lungs. His body started to relax, his white knuckled clenched fists loosening themselves against the ripping fabric between his fingers. Foggy still whispered against Matt's sweat soaked shivering skin. 

"Hey. Hey Matty. Shhh. It's okay. It's okay. I'm here. Shhh. You're okay. You're okay Matty." 

Matt had twisted his body against itself, curling as tightly into himself as he could. He turned and buried his face painfully into Foggy's side, pressing against Foggy's own ribs, stuttering his breathing. Foggy didn't seem to care. He gently wrapped his arms around Matt's loosening body, pulling him tighter against his side, cradling him under his new found protective strength. With each beat of Foggy's heart, Matt seemed to loosen the coils of his nerves, allowing himself to be protected. 

It was the first time Foggy had ever seen Matt vulnerable, ever seen him anything but put-together. It was the first time Matt had let him... This time, it was Foggy who stayed awake the rest of the night, listening closely to each inhale and exhale of Matt's slowly steadying breathing...while Matt lulled himself into sleep, listening closely to Foggy's heartbeat.

So, Matt understood. 

He broke free from his college flashbacks, making his way to the now empty side of the couch. Much like he had been faintly aware Foggy had done that night in college, Matt leaned down, whispering softly. 

"Hey. You're okay. It's okay. Hey. Shhh. You're safe. You're safe here." 

As much of a defense Matt had built against allowing others to show him any pity or sympathy, he couldn't help but feel those very things for this girl on his couch. He hated that all he really knew was her name anda small piece of her tragic backstory. His anger fueled conversation with her earlier never brought up such other formalities. He was too obsessed with trying to find out how she had bested him, how she had fooled him with her softened heartbeat and steady breathing...or why she gave a shit about him.

He shook his head. Now wasn't the time to rekindle the flame he burned so fiercely earlier. That softened heartbeat spit thready beats violently under her rubs. Her breathing still caught harshly in her throat, barely able to pull in enough oxygen before it was spilling back out over itself. Her whimpers grew, her words breaking from under the weight of her tears. 

"No. No. Please. Please! Not tonight. Please." 

Matt's breathing caught in his own throat now. Her pleading grew more desperate. Pieces...of her past...pieces he vaguely knew about...pieces he had heard before.

Pieces.  
Pieces.

"I promise. Please, no. Everything still hurts. It hurt too much last time. I promise I won't let them see the bruises again. I promise!" 

Her body flinched violently, her arms covering her face, bracing themselves against imaginary blows. Her sobs muffled into herself. Her fists white kuckled the fabric of her sleeves, gripping her body tighter into herself. She was barely taking up any space on the couch now, curling into such a tiny ball that she could almost get away with not passing as an adult. 

Against his better judgement, he reached down, gently pressing against her knee. 

Wrong move. 

Her body thrashed so violently that her body pushed off of the couch, landing loud and harsh against the floor, knocking her arms and head into the corner of the coffee table. 

Fuck. 

He knew better. He knew better than to do that. He remembers how touch felt when he would get like this. 

Fuck.

Her body lay motionless on the floor beside the couch. Her arms folded awkwardly beneath her chest. Her breathing had steadied, evening out abruptly. 

Fuck. 

She had knocked herself out when she hit the coffee table. Panic set in, freezing him through to his bones. Fresh tastes of copper filled the stale, humid air. A fresh cut slit across the skin of her forehead, just before where her hairline starts. Head wounds always bleed so much. A large pool circling the carpet beneath her. 

Her right foot managed to finally fall the rest of the way off the side of the couch, smacking against the surface, snapping Matt back into reality. He knelt down, very hesitently resting his hand onto her shoulder. She stayed motionless. Matt turned her over, scopping the fragile parts of her in his arms, pulling her close to his chest as he stood, wrapping his arms protectively around her, instincts bleeding out from his subconscious. 

He carried her into his bedroom, carefully laying her down across his sheets that had welcomed him such a short time ago. He grabbed gauze and tape from the first aid kit that had managed to remain in place on the bedside table. He carefully, cautiously, pressed a few gauze pads to her forehead, keeping a gentle strength to it in attempts to clot the wound. He taped down fresh gauze. He slid her sneakers off, dropping them to the side of the bed. He pulled the sheet up across her body, stopping just under her chin, having to hold himself back from actually tucking her in, leaning down closer to hear the humming in her ears.

As he slid himself off from the mattress, her hand wrapped around his wrist. His heart skipped. 

"Stay. Please." 

Her voice was drastically different than it had been moments before. The pain still painted every syllable, but she sounded somewhat like herself again. 

He remembers how needed it was to have Foggy at his side back in college. The sturdy presence somehow grounded Matt, keeping him in reality and not locked away in his worst memories. He wasn't sure he could be that safety net for this girl he barely knew, but, after sending a shock of pain that inadvertently hurt her again, he refused to say no. She was his rock the night before too, letting him cling to her, bury his face into her neck, keeping her close to him to steady his waivering sense of self. He could be that much, at least. 

He climbed over her, sliding himself under the sheet he tucked her in with. Just as he managed a comfortable position, she readjusted herself so her head was pressed tightly against his chest. She pulled out the hearing aids from her ears, sliding them open and turning them off. He yearned for the humming almost immediately. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, steadying her, keeping her in place. Her closed fist rested below her face, laying across his lower abdomen. Inside her fingers, those dark green hearing aids stayed silent, not needing sound anymore tonight. He could feel her heartbeat through her chest. In the abscence of the humming, he found her steadying heartbeat more calming than the noise her ears would make. Feeling her heart pulse against his chest...was a feeling he wasn't too sure how to describe. 

Home?


	17. Everything...real.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And, just like that, he was alone, again, pushed away the one truest thing he had actually, literally, had his fingers wrapped around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Digging into Tilly's backstory some more. 
> 
> Mentions of abuse.  
> Mentions of panic attacks.  
> Mentions of overstimulation.
> 
> (Tilly has mentioned having ADHD and the way that affects her senses. I have ADHD and the way she describes them, specifically in this chapter, is my own personal experiences with ADHD. Not everyone diagnosed experiences it this way, so I just wanted to make that clear that these are my own experiences with my own diagnosis, and being overstimulated at times. I felt it was important to give Tilly that diagnosis as well, as a lot of how I view Matt experiencing the world is a lot of the same way. My personal take on his senses. Sorry for rambling a bit with that!) 
> 
> Hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading.

Matt startled awake, the coldness from around him had awoken him out of his, surprisingly, restful sleep. Wow. He hadn't had that in such a long time...sleep. But, he was so warm. The bedsheets around him...so warm. 

Her.

This time, she was real. It was real. Everything...real. 

\---------------------

He found her on the rooftop. Strange. This was starting to be their mutual hideaway spot. He wondered if she felt about it the same way he did...the chance to be tucked away from the bustle of the city...to still feel the life it bled but far enough away that the redness of its lively liquid couldn't reach. 

He covered the distance between them, hesitating to keep his footsteps silent, but the familiar friction of hard rubber told him her ears weren't even in to notice his ghosting footsteps. 

"You're awake."

Her words hit him sharply, even with the softness in them. She clicked the backing of her hearing aids closed, sliding them back in place. The soft humming radiated through his bones. He didn't even try to hide the way it made him feel, the warmth spreading across his skin.

"Guess so."

He sat down beside her. Their legs dangled over the ledge, scraping along the brick face. She was comfortably silent, not searching for words and not pressing any onto him. He found it strangely calming. 

So many things about her were so strangely calming to him. 

Of course, he had to ruin it. At least he waited a good twenty minutes before...

"Sleep okay?" 

He knew she knew what he was hinting at. Just because he refused to talk about what a shitshow he actually was the other night, didn't mean he was going to let her get a pass on it. He was an asshole like that. Hey, more of a chance to keep the attention off of himself. 

He could hear the subtle shift in her breathing, the way it hitched in between her breaking thoughts. Her heart beat, usually so steady and quiet, much like every part of her, was slowly, frantically losing its grasp on her carefully guarded emotions. He always sensed there was a storm in her mind, but that was one of the places his senses were off limits to. 

This was one of those moments he wished he could see into her thoughts, see into her eyes, see her unspoken body language she had somehow masterfully disguised all these years. The darkened corners of herself, those were the parts he wanted to know, not for some sick pleasure in knowing someone may be as far gone as he truly is, but to understand why this girl in front of him got to where she is...because he kept the guilt wrapped around himself that he failed her. 

But, he knew he couldn't force it. He knew she was just as guarded about all the things she never wanted anyone to know about, the very things that could break her and expose the fading parts of her vulnerability. He could feel the pulsing vibration of her nerves buried beneath her skin. The small flickers of movements rattle through his ears. The way she dragged her fingers against her own skin in a last stitch effort to keep herself grounded had become such a familiar sound to him, almost to the point of grounding his own self. He knew why she had that not-so-subtle-at-times 'stim', as he had heard it spoken about before. She hadn't let that part of herself known to him in the first few early encounters of their now frantic relationship they had, but the subtle details he zeroed in on gave him a sense of it. 

She had somehow managed to allow such a drastic part of herself known to Matt, allowed him to know why she always had such a storm inside of her, without so much as speaking a word about it. He could easily relate. He had met a few people in college who posed as having the same disorder, but never having gotten the full grasp of its makeup much past its stereotypes. 

It was all just facts, instances, gluing together in Matt's mind. Until, last night. Last night, in her half-asleep stupor, reeling from the effects of exhaustion from her nightmare...and the gracious blow to her head...Tilly let the deep parts of her spill out. He listened so intently as she told him, in very relatable detail, how all of those stereotypes he once knew about were wrong. How all of those stereotypes he once believed about her were wrong, too. 

The way she described the way sounds and smells crawled under her skin and the way her sanity waivered when she couldn't keep solid ground beneath her feet made his own heart pound. He had never met someone who understood the downfall of what it was like to feel the world from every detail, every movement, every sensation. He had tried to explain it a few times to Foggy, even to Stick and Elektra, and that one time to Claire, but they could never grasp what it truly felt like. They could never understand that it sometimes felt the world was swallowing you whole and you couldn't catch your breath, feeling yourself suffocate from your own distorted sensations, clawing and grasping to unbury yourself from your own skin, from your own mind. 

Matt was simply fascinated by her, and how she seemed to keep herself as grounded and steady as possible, fighting off the same invisible demons he stumbled with in his own day-to-day life. The way she steadied her own heart and leveled her breathing always brought a twinge of jealousy buried inside of him. The storm in his mind seemed to mirror the one in her own, yet she had a better handle on dancing along to the chaotic melody than he could ever manage. 

That's why it was strange for them to be where they were now in this moment, every one of her defenses seemingly down, almost shattered to the ground beneath them. 

"This is my favorite time of the day, y'know?" 

He was almost caught off guard from the sound of her voice. He knew he wasn't that much older than she was, but her voice gave the false sense of added youth he still hadn't been expecting. Their conversations up to this point were filled with few words and riddled with sarcastic undertones, acidic speeches and hurtful insults, all mostly dealt from his own mouth. She matched him wit for wit, sharp tongue and clever remarks. She had almost bested him at their first encounter, when he was stitching her up on his couch. And still, she had stuck around, saved him more than once, from the destructive path he skipped along down. 

"The sun has barely come up, and everyone is still sound asleep. The city is still quiet, and for the last few moments...it's almost like the chaos in the world is at peace...like the city finally has a chance to breathe...like I finally have a chance to breathe..." 

Her words almost slipped in her throat, dragging along the siding, tripping across her tongue as they seemingly came tumbling out. 

"It's the only place I feel connected to what I used to have. Up here, separated from the world. I used to take out my ears and press my head against his chest, close my eyes and feel the steady rhythm of his heart inside his chest, feel the sounds as he would tell me stories about the sun fighting its way to the city to shine its light across all the darkness that breathed at night." 

Her heart waivered. 

"Even when it was cold out, we would still curl up under blankets, every morning before school. Every morning for 3 years. 3 years...I...he gave me something of a normal life..." 

He could taste the salt forming along the ridges of her eyes. 

"When he was shot...when they put me in that orphanage...put me in those homes...the things they used to do..." 

Her mouth clenched shut, the muscles aching against themselves as she grimaced the memories away. His body tensed as well, feeling that suffocating guilt wrapping around him again. 

"I taught myself to become invisible. Taught myself to fight. Taught myself to steady myself, become barely traceable. I learned to bury my emotions, slow my heart and keep my breathing even, so he...so nobody could tell if I was hurting. I could hide and escape without making a sound..." 

The sound of her head shaking against the collar of her shirt told Matt her defensive walls were coming back up, and very quickly. 

"You asked me how I kept my heart rate and my breathing so calm. That's how. By having to become invisible...so even if I was being physically damaged...he...they couldn't in all the other ways. I wouldn't let him." 

Matt paused. He could feel himself staring at her, although he knew he was looking down and past her. He wasn't sure she had meant to let that last part out, but she hadn't corrected herself either. 

Then, all at once, Matt suddenly felt his every ounce of being boil with anger. Anger to the world for taking the man who cared so strongly for her when she was little. Anger towards the families who never noticed her. And downright rage towards the man who hurt her, stole what was left of her vague childhood. 

Anger towards himself. He thought he had saved that girl so long ago. He thought he taught that man a lesson. Leaving him bloodied in the hospital. But, now he knows, he failed. Failed. Such a fucking failure. Fail. Fail. Fail. 

His voice was softer than it usually was.

"Did you ever find him? After all these years?" 

He wanted, he needed, to know if she sought revenge, to finish what he apparently couldn't. He needed to know if that evil was still walking around in the world. 

The shame in her voice quickly dulled the fire building inside of him. 

"I did. And I couldn't do anything about it. I became that same scared little girl, unable to break away from his grip from above me, holding me face down against my will. I suddenly felt every ache of my muscles, every tear of my skin, every drop of blood he ever pulled out of me..."

The laugh that escaped her was less from amusement and more from bewilderment at the sting her memories still caused her. 

"I could still feel every part of me that his hands ever touched, ever grabbed, ever hurt...on me." 

Her heart skipped, quickening to an almost painful rhythm. He suddenly despised being able to hear her heart beat so well this time. 

"I thought losing my parents, losing my brothers, was everything painful I could imagine. Then, when I lost Henry..."

Her voice breaking at the mention of a full name, bore down into the hollow parts of Matt. 

"...when I lost the one person who showed me it was okay to be happy after everything...and never gave up on me...gave me the life I thought I lost...gave me a world to exist in again for 3 years...and then some asshole shot him..." 

Tears broke over the edges, spilling violently onto her flushed cheeks. 

"I would spend my nights in the orphanage, curled into the dusty spaces of the darkest rooms, trying to forget how to breathe. It hurt too much to breathe... And then when they started bouncing me around to all of these homes...all of these faces of people who just didn't want to see me, to know me... I taught myself to really become invisible. And I thought I was invisible enough. But, he noticed. And it was when I turned 12...he...I didn't even notice until it was too late and he had his hand over my mouth so I couldn't scream, and he pulled me into the garage so no one would hear." 

She sat silent for a long time. Matt sat with her, trying to process the sudden information he found himself no longer wishing to know. 

Her voice was soft, restrained, almost defeated. 

"Hell of a birthday present, huh?" 

Matt was never one to celebrate his own birthdays. He just never felt the need to. He grew up under slightly different circumstances, but having a similar background growing up in an orphanage that did little to embrace him, let alone acknowledge his very existence. The idea of a birthday felt wrong in that place, and he just became accustomed to that. Until Foggy forced birthday cakes on him every year since they met in college. But, this...this, Matt could understand having a very strong distaste when it came to birthday festivities. 

Her leg bounced nervously, restlessly against the ledge. He reached out and rested a hand on her thigh, stilling her movements. He could feel the fraying nerves underneath her skin, splintering raw at exposing too many emotions. She rested her hand on the top of his, intertwining her fingers inbetween his, wrapping them back together, grounding each of them to this faultering reality they could barely keep themselves in. The guilt was starting to choke him.

"I'm...I...I'm sorry I couldn't..."

She ripped her hand away from his, almost as though his skin burned hers. Her heartbeat quickened, pulsing erratically beneath her ribs, slamming harshly against the cavity inside. She jumped back, landing onto her feet, stumbling steps away from him. 

"No. No no no NO! You don't get to say that to me. I know what you're gonna say...and no. Fuck you, Matt." 

She turned, heels digging into the surface of the rooftop. The rising sun just cresting along the adjacent rooftops, kissing warmth to his skin. It didn't matter. The ice in her words, in her veins, washed over him, freezing him in his place on the ledge of his building. She half-ran/half-...no, she sprinted, marathon sprinted, to the doorway leading back down to his apartment. 

And, just like that, he was alone, again, pushed away the one truest thing he had actually, literally, had his fingers wrapped around. 

Fuck.


	18. Keep Him Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Keep him safe. But, please, keep yourself safe, too. I'm finding myself enjoying you being around a little bit..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another conversation between Tilly and Foggy.
> 
> Because, I love Foggy. And he makes me smile. So. Yeah. Kind of feel like this one is a little all over the place, but...my ADHD has a tendency to push and pull me every which way sometimes...

Tilly drummed her fingers against the laminate in the Mom and Pop breakfast nook she had stumbled into a few years ago, the vibrations radiating through the tips, into the bones, seering through her forearms in such a calming motion. 

Oh, memory lane. Let's skip. Hand holding? Too much, okay. Just a short one, promise. 

She had barely managed to scrounge up $10 in crumpled ones and discarded change she found along the sidewalks over the course of a week. Her stomach lurched, grumbling and moaning in protest, the all too familiar sting of hunger threading itself through her muscles, through her nerves, muddying her thoughts, slowing her movements. 

Those were the moments in her life where hiding in the shadows and living off of what she could do for herself were more important than relying on someone...anyone. The world had fucked her over enough times to count at this point, and refusing to put herself in that space again...no. Fuck, no. But, shit, she was so hungry...

But, those eggs and that toast was probably the most delicious meal she had ever eaten in the entirety of her existence. True hunger can do that...it can transform even the slimiest morsels of food into the most intoxicating collection of taste bud spasms one could only ever dream of. Washing it down with the free water refills was the purest waterfall she could have found, buried deep in the woods of some enchated forest, secluded by the lush of greenery and the soothing melodies of the birds humming rhythmic musicals she had never heard before. The scrape of her worn out fork against the melamine plates couldn't rip her from her oral ectasy. Eggs would never be the same...

The ring of the bell above the door managed to fade away her fond memory about eggs and toast...a cloud poofing in front of her eyes. Her fingers skipped their pattern on the table as her eyes roved over the small nook and met Foggy's concerned ones in the doorway. 

His attempt at a genuine smile was enough to curl Tilly's mouth into a small one in return. Dammit, he was such a sweet soul. Matt is such a fucking moron. Foggy slid into the booth across from Tilly, exhaling out a breath she was pretty sure he hadn't known he was holding in. His breath smelled like mint and coffee. Lots of coffee. And lots of mint. The scents fought in her nose, she twitched it subconsciously, settling the two invasive smells to a dull annoyance. She always hated the smell of coffee...

"Hey, sorry I kind of ran out on you yesterday. That was just..."

She could feel the guilt ooze out of his every pore, bleeding onto the table in front of them. God fucking dammit, Matt...stop letting this Unicorn Saint of a Human beat himself up!! He's too soft and pure for that look etched on his face. 

Tilly may be good at some things...damn fucking good at some things, yes, she'll brag, cuz she worked really fucking hard to damn fucking good at some things, fuck off...but one thing she honestly prided herself over, especially in her later years in life...because, well, circumstances forced her hand...that she was a damn fucking good judge of character. And Foggy...Mythical Unicorn Saint of a Human was probably more of an understatement than anything this man deserved to be called. His soul radiated warmth and kindness, his eyes focused in and took in the world around him, almost afraid to miss every detail. His body language screamed calmness, inviting the universe into the safe place inside of his chest, waiting to wrap his arms around anyone protectively, without question. The goodness that bubbled inside of Foggy drenched the air around him, glistening his aura in the most beautiful colors the world couldn't even possibly name. 

Foggy was...real. 

"Don't be sorry."

She tried to keep her frustration at bay, biting the sides of her tongue inside her clenching teeth. No. Foggy never needed to apologize to her. Not for stuttering when they first met. Not for glaring at her unknowingly when she fessed up to her overly aware sense of details. Not for telling her exactly how he felt about her trying to help Matt through whatever in the actual fuck he was even going through. No. No no no no. 

"That was just a lot and...I...I just wasn't ready to fall face first back into all of it again."

Now, her guilt pooled and congealed onto the laminate table top, mixing and mashing with his own. Fuck. That was her fault...for texting him from Matt's phone and dragging him back into this clusterfuck that is Matthew...fuck, what's his last name?...Life. Swell job, Tilly. 

Her throat tightened in her own feeble response, the guilt boiling up against her tongue. She swallowed, several times, trying to force the sensation back down into her unsettled stomach. Fuck, even in her awkward silence, Foggy still seemed so calm and patient, almost understanding her momentary stillness. How the fuck does he do that?! 

"Lillian."

What? Where the fuck did that spill out from? Sure, let's just tell Foggy that fun, hidden detail about one self...

"What?"

No shit, Foggy...what exactly!

"Lillian."

Yeah, fucking repeat it again. That'll clear it up for him, ya fucking dumbass.

"That's my name. You asked me my name. So, that's my name. Lillian."

Whoa...breathe. Sentences usually have breaths in between them. Breathe...

The soft smile on Foggy's face soothed the rupturing chaos building in Tilly's mind, softening the cresting waves before they crashed against her skull with full force, threatening to drown her in the riptides of her memories. Breathe...breathe...

"Lillian, huh?"

His voice, steady, judgement free.

"Yeah..."

Her voice, waivering, barely above a whisper.

"I gotta ask...how'd you get Tilly from Lillian?" 

Fuck. Here comes that wave again. Building back on itself, rising into the air, aqua blue blending into the foamy white as the swell arches back just far enough...

"My little brother...couldn't figure out the first L in Lilly, for some reason. Kept calling me Tilly. Never bothered to correct him...nobody else did either...and it just stuck. Been a Tilly since I was 4. Liked it better anyways." 

Crash. There it was. The currents sweeping down, pulling her down into the undertows, scraping her brain into the rough corals underneath. The water filled her lungs, the salt burning her eyes, her body moving in such slow motion. She could feel her muscles tense, struggling to reach the surface...but, it was all too much. It was all too real. Her heart pounded, beating out its last pulse as the memories consumed her. No. 

No no no no no no.  
Breathe.  
In and out.  
Breathe. 

The strangest part about these soul drowning memory waves is that the ones involving her brothers were the ones that left her mentally, emotionally, physically, psychologically...pretty much every possible way there could be...exhausted. For days afterwards. The pain of being a little sister and a big sister singed through her, leaving scars on top of the old ones that never quite healed. Never quite like the pain of suddenly becoming an orphan...nothing could ever top that. No. No. But, losing the two things she felt protected under and protective over...made her always feel suddenly so vulnerably alone. 

That's why it surprised her that she had let that small memory out, to somebody she barely knew. Foggy just seem to have that pull on people. No matter what she said or did, he would stand there, accepting and warm. Just...so...warm. 

And then, her anger rushed back to her...flushing the painful memories away and replacing them with the frustrated knowledge that Foggy must have tried and Matt was just...well, himself. She definitely has come to learn that much about Matt's personality. The sheer level of dick-ness that man could be...sometimes, she felt he deserved a few blows to the head. 

What? 

Serves him right for being such a piece of shit to Foggy...

Yes. She was being totally biased.

No, she didn't care.

"Yeah, you seem much more like a Tilly than a Lillian." 

The lightness to Foggy's voice brought Tilly back from her rage induced rampage. Sunshine. Definitely sunshine. 

And she was going to cover that warmth with the darkest of gray stormy clouds. Because, why the fuck not? Ugh. Her heart ached before she even started talking...

"What happened between you and Matt?" 

No. There it was. That look. The warmth...the softness drained away from his face. Can she take it back? Take everything back???!! Please? 

She watched as he traced his fingers along the laminate table top, zigzagging through where their mutual guilt had blended together and filled in the invisible cracks they had left between one another. 

"The first time I found out about what Matt does, the shit you two do at night, I actually found him in his apartment, bleeding from pretty much everywhere. This was before he had that stupid red suit, too. Okay...it's not stupid...it's kind of badass, but seriously, don't you ever tell him I said that..."

The smallest and faintest of smiles. Yes. He's still warm. 

"He tried explaining it to me then, and after a while, I kind of was okay with it. It still scared the shit out of me and I watched the news...a LOT...since he told me, but...a little while ago...god, I can't even remember how long ago it was now...things kind of changed."

No...bring that smile back! Please...

"Did Matt ever tell you about someone named Elektra?"

The odd mixture of familiar curiosity flooded into his eyes. 

"He doesn't really talk a whole lot...only really to make some sort of sarcastic remark to me." 

Foggy's laugh radiated through her, swarming the coldness in her muscles. Sunshine. Literal fucking sunshine. 

"Yeah, not surprising. He's definitely got a mouth on him..."

The smile dropped away from his mouth. No. Come back. Please.

"Back in college, he met this girl Elektra. It was kind of one of those rollercoaster relationships...y'know?"

No.

"They couldn't keep their hands off of each other. They skipped classes almost every day. Matt almost flunked out. Which, if you knew Matt...getting a bad grade is worse than a back alley criminal. Seriously. He got a B- on a test and wallowed in self-pity for a solid week before I could convince him he would still pass high honors. So...when he was skipping out on classes, that just wasn't like him at all.

"And then...she was just gone. And I had to pick up that shitshow of an aftermath, but...the weird thing was...it made us closer, made our friendship stronger. Strong enough to get past what it was he was doing. But, then...she came back. In the middle of one of our biggest cases."

Wait, what?

"Cases?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess that might not have come up so much lately, huh? Matt and I are...well, were lawyers. I mean, I still am. I have no idea what he's even doing anymore with that..." We had our own firm and everything."

Oh. Too much sadness in his voice for her liking. But, lawyers. Wow. Foggy's too nice to be a lawyer. 

"You're too nice to be a lawyer."

His laugh again. Skin singing on the most perfect summer day Sunshine. 

"Thanks, I think. We were defense lawyers. Matt always wanted to help out the little guy...the underdogs. Kind of makes sense why he does what he does now, but, he definitely rubbed off on me when it came to the lawyer stuff, though. So, when he convinced me to take that bullshit case a while ago...I couldn't help but trust him on it. But...when Elektra came back into his...our...lives...everything changed. And...when she died..."

Oh. 

"We were already pulling apart from each other and then he just spiraled and I had lost all the fight in me to hold onto our friendship at that point...and...and...this is just all my fault. I shouldn't have turned my back on him."

No. No. No. 

"You can't blame yourself for this. For any of this." 

"No, you don't understand. Matt had no family. His Mom left when he was little. His Dad died after his accident. He ended up in some shitty orphange and the only person who came and went in his life was some piece of shit guy that destroyed a lot of Matt...broke him down. If I ever saw that guy...I swear..."

Wait. Wait. Wait... 

"Matt's an orphan?"

Matt's an orphan, too? 

"Yeah. He doesn't talk much about it, though. Some mob guy shot his Dad a few months after Matt went blind. Nobody could get in touch with his Mom. So, he got put into some Catholic orphanage. He had no one. So, when I met him in college...he became MY family. And I swore I would always do anything for him, like he was my own blood. And...I've let him down."

"You can't keep blaming yourself. It kind of sounds like Matt doesn't want any help."

Honestly. He doesn't. 

"Why are you helping him?" 

"I already told you." 

Foggy's face dropped, expression bordering to almost painful. 

"Oh, yeah, oh my god. I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry."

Arms wide open, try to not dive head first into his protective safety of warm goodness. 

"Please, just please don't let Matt break you... Not with everything you've been through. I know I can't convince you to stop...but, just please...don't let him hurt you like he has hurt everyone around him that had ever given a shit about him."

He stood up, leaning down and kissing Tilly softly on the top of her head. Even though the action took Tilly by surprise, she leaned into it, hoping to pull more of that warmth into herself. 

Tilly could see the pain in Foggy's eyes. So much of him had been drained from these past few hours...from these past years. She could see just how much he deeply cared for and loved Matt. But, she could see those same parts broken and frayed, damaged from time after time of Matt pulling and pushing away from everyone and everything. A small part of her actually didn't blame Foggy. She understood, and that was something Foggy hadn't realized he needed from someone until he saw it in her eyes. The soft smile breaking from his frown was borderline genuine. 

"Keep him safe. But, please, keep yourself safe, too. I'm finding myself enjoying you being around a little bit..."

Oh. Oh! Yup, the smile was genuine...from both of them. 

The smiles both stayed, even when the bells chimed over the door as Foggy left the tiny Mom and Pop restaurant.


	19. More Than Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just before Matt finally surrended to his own sleep...the most vivid truth struck against him. This girl...this Tilly...was beginning to become something more to him than an irritating acquaintenance...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt's POV. 
> 
> Some sarcasm. Some out of nowhere softness from those two. Really, out of nowhere.

Adjusting his weight on the overhead fire escape, trying to ignore the scent of the rusting metal invading his nose, Matt tried to shake the annoying feeling in his gut that he was being cowardly by hiding out of sight from Foggy and Tilly. Yeah...he followed her to the little restaurant on some quiet little side street. Matt liked the secluded setting, better for him to hear what they were saying, but...with the seclusion came the lack of reasons for why he would be awkwardly hovering above some restaurant in broad daylight. Whatever. He's just getting some fresh air. 

Near a dumpster.  
And decaying metal.  
And pretty sure a sewer line was exploding deep beneath the sidewalk because...well...he could definitely smell that...

No. Focus. 

He tried to not let Foggy's words completely pulverize the leftover remains of his heart. Not when Foggy warmly reminisced about starting their now fizzled out firm, or when he spoke with utter helplessness when Elektra stormed her way through their lives and left the shattered remains of Matt in her wake. He tried not to focus on the flutter of Foggy's heartbeat when he spoke, beating just a little bit faster when the conversation transferred over to Tilly. 

Whose name is apparently Lillian. And she had brothers. She had a family, once. Twice. She told him that before, but not the way she's telling it to Foggy...so fluidly, so naturally. But, then again, that was always Foggy. Matt tried to not dwell on the dulling sensation that felt a little bit like jealousy. 

No. He wasn't jealous. No. 

He exhaled deeply, slamming his eyes closed (because he thought that might help for some reason...) and tried to listen for that humming sound. The sound he could only hear...like it was just for him, and once he found it, he let it wash over him, finally finding a sense of calm within all of his fury. 

\-----------------------

Matt wasn't sure what led him to the church after Foggy left Tilly in that restaurant. He wanted to deny that Foggy's words hadn't hurt him a little, but he honestly couldn't even blame him for the things he had said. The only parts he disagreed with were when Foggy blamed himself for not being there for Matt. 

That was the furthest thing from the truth. Foggy was always there, even when Matt hadn't known he needed him to be. Foggy just always...knew. But, since Elektra...Matt had been finding himself pushing everyone away. He pushed Karen away even before Elektra's death. He pushed Claire away way before that. It was only a matter of time that he would push the last positive thing in his life as far away from himself as possible...to finally let the world pull him down and suffocate him whole. 

The realization climbed up from the base of Matt's spine, slamming hard into the corners of his mind... Matt climbed out of the pew and made his way down the aisle of the empty church before Father Lantom could get through the doorway from his office in the back. He already felt guilty enough. He just didn't have it in him to get put in his place...even though he very rightly so deserved it. Father Lantom was always good at that...telling Matt all of the things he was trying to ignore within himself. No latte conversation could navigate its way through Matt's head anymore. 

The fresh air felt good, day easing its way into early afternoon. He tapped his cane along the sidewalk, trying to time the taps with the chirping birds around him, a feeble attempt to clear his mind and give him something mundane to focus on. He had a pretty good rhythm going by the time he reached the row of benches in front of the church. He even almost missed that familiar humming coming from one of the middle benches.

Matt paused, letting the noise rush into him. Yup. That was her. He backtracked a few steps, lifting his cane and whacking her across her crossed legs where she was laying down. 

She barely startles awake. Of course, that irritated him. 

"Took you long enough. Tell Jesus any good stories?" 

He clenched his jaw, feeling his irritation grow with her easy sarcasm. 

"Are you following me?"

How did she find him anyway?

"Maybe I wanted to catch up with the clothed man inside."

"Father Lantom." Matt said, defensively.

"...yeah." Tilly said, dismissively.

"What, you don't do churches?"

"Never said that."

"You don't seem too thrilled about them"

"Never said that, either." 

He lets out a long sigh, already annoyed with this conversation. 

"Why are you here?"

"Got tired. Decided to take a nap."

"And right outside the church I happen to be at seemed like the best place for one of those?"

"What are the chances, right? I know." 

His teeth were grinding now.

"As always, Lillian, a fucking pleasure talking with you..."

He tried to focus in on her heartbeat at the drop of her legal name. Nothing. Fucking hell. He could feel the smirk on her lips, and that nearly pushed him over the end into his blind (ha, get it) rage.

"Now, Matthew...is that any way to speak to someone on such sacred grounds? Pretty sure I just heard the Angels scoff at you..." 

She kicked her legs up off the bench, standing just to the side of him. She bent forward, leaning the crook of her elbow towards him.

"Lead the way, Saint Matthew."

He pushed her elbow away, absently tapping his cane against the concrete, even thought he knew she knew he didn't actually need it. He had just become so accustomed to holding up the facade while he was out, meddling in the over observant public eye, especially when it came to a blind guy with a cane. He had always hated the way strangers glaring eyes felt falling over his body. So many didn't actually mean to, but it was mostly the ones that meant to gawk that would usually make his skin crawl. 

She was by his side before he could even register her feet scuffing across the sidewalk. Dammit. She all but shoved her elbow into his hand, forcing him to accept. He knew she wasn't actually forcing him to take her lead. He knew she was sensitive enough to not be that insensitive about lending a guiding elbow to him. He knew it was just her...finding yet another way to piss him the fuck off. Yeah, it's fine, he was far enough away from the church to start letting the wonderful array of 'fucks' to start flowing. Fucking hell, she pissed him right the fucking fuckest of all fucks off. Ahh, the gritty underbelly of the English language at its fucking finest. 

"Let's go for a stroll, Matty. It's such a beautiful day out, isn't it?" 

Is that really what she was going to start with? A back handed blind joke? 

"Yeah, just listen to those birds sing!" 

He was feeling himself to be in a witty mood. Maybe it was sarcastic. Or maybe borderline asshole...he honestly didn't care which, squeezing his grip a little too tightly around her arm, smiling to himself just briefly. 

\----------------------

By the time they both reached his apartment, the air had cooled enough for Matt to know the sun was setting behind the buildings. Once inside his building, Matt all but shoved Tilly's elbow away from him, climbing up the stairway with practiced precision. 

Tilly chuckled from behind Matt, trudging her way up the stairs, a little too loudly for her...or anyone for that matter. 

Matt unlocked his door, shoving it open, purposely letting the door swing close behind him, not holding the door open for Tilly...even though he knew he should. Just because something about that girl curled under his skin, doesn't mean he shouldn't all of a sudden forget the few chivalrous acts he does know. 

He waited inside, just past the door. Tilly's obnoxiously loud footsteps had gone silent, not even an echo bouncing around in the hallways. Almost as though she just vanished into the stale air between the walls. 

That can't be right. 

Matt would probably deny it if anybody had asked, but he had slowly started to know a lot of the ins and outs of Tilly. Except for the pull she had on him. That one, still entirely up for debate. 

And Matt fucking loved to debate...so bring it.

His feet were already halfway up the roof access stairs before his mind could fully catch up. 

That damn girl loved those fucking rooftops...

And yup, there she was, legs dangling over the side, bouncing carefree against the brick layers. Without the sun in the sky, the air was steadily dropping to cooler temperatures in the almost fall night. 

He shuffled his way over to her, sitting on the roof just beneath where she was sitting on the ledge. He pressed himself against the ledge, letting his head rest back on the concrete lip, to the left of her hip. 

"What is it with you and my roof?" 

He directed the words to the space in front of him, the space behind her. 

"Do you remember what stars look like?"

She kept her words in front of her, letting them float and sink in the empty space before her. 

He definitely wasn't expecting that question. He knew she knew he wasn't always blind. Foggy had let her know that basic detail about his childhood, plus a few others that slightly irritated him that Foggy would share without asking him first...but, not the point right now. 

"Kind of. I remember it was hard to see them sometimes in the city."

She swung her legs around, missing his head by mere inches. She slid herself off of the ledge and scooted down the surface of the roof, laying down on her back, facing up to the sky. 

"Lay down next to me."

She patted the half empty area beside her, motioning for Matt to join. He hesitated for a moment, before lowering himself down beside her, keeping enough of a distance between them, unsure of what exactly it was she was doing. 

The small distance was quickly closed as she squirmed her way closer to him, a barely frustrated sigh escaping her and she pressed their shoulders together. 

"Sometimes, though, the sky is giving enough to let a few of them through."

Her voice had lowered, a soothing familiar rush of an old memory coated her words. Something about her demeanor shifted against his. 

"I wish I could see them now..."

His admission startled him. A response he wasn't too sure where it even originated from. He hadn't thought about the sky in years...and definitely not the stars. He vaguely remembers how they would fill the sky, sharp contrast to the dark backdrop. If he squeezes his eyes shut, forcing the darkness away for a few moments and can trace far enough into his memory, he swears he can almost see them flickering perfectly above him...

"Here, let me show you."

She scoots closer to him, pressing the side of her body into his, almost melting them into one. She cocked her head to the side, joining his just at his temple. She lifted his arm, stretching both his and hers straight towards the sky. Her fingers intertwined with his, twitching his index finger over her own as she pointed to the individual stars, flickering in an almost mirroring motion as the stars twinkled. She traced out the constellations she knew, whispering their names into the small space between them. 

Matt breathed in her scent, letting the fresh subtleness of her own flood into him, pooling into the cracks he never could fill. Even when she exhausted the few constellations even he didn't know...they stayed on the roof, bodies pressed beside one another, fingers still entwined, letting the stillness of the now sleeping city below them lure them into their own unconsciousness. 

Just before Matt finally surrended to his own sleep...the most vivid truth struck against him. This girl...this Tilly...was beginning to become something more to him than an irritating acquaintenance...

And he was okay with that. 

More than okay.

And...before he could let himself pretend to deny that very, very real truth...he leaned further into Tilly's already asleep body and drifted off himself.


	20. He Had To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck. Why was he crying? This girl pissed him off more than he could possibly fathom one person doing...and yet, he was lost...drowning in the rushing emptiness of her sudden loss. This was all of his fault. All of this. If he hadn't been such a fuck up these past few months...he wouldn't have put her in harms way...he wouldn't have let all those dipshit criminals roam around and end up taking her from him...he wouldn't have had his guard down while up on that roof...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a little short. It had just been a while since my last update and ai wanted to at least get the first part of it out.

A soft breeze floated across Matt's skin. Fresh air filled his nose, rushing into his lungs as he took in the early morning stillness. His skin prickled from the coolness surrounding him when the rest of his senses finally finished awakening. 

A high pitched frequency shrieked in his ear. 

Shrieked from the empty space beside him.

Suddenly, he felt everything. In the worst ways.

The morning sun was rising and the uncomfortable stick of humidity started to drown over him. Birds chirped their irritating melodies, pounding their choruses into the base of Matt's skull. The harsh roof top surface peeled into his skin, pressing stiffly against his back. And the shrieking noise had burrowed itself so far into him that he could start to feel his skin burning at the sound. His fingers flailed, clawing across the rooftop, almost frantically, to stop the noise. 

The hard rubber froze him in his tracks. He could feel the ice harden in his veins. No.

No no no no no....

Tilly's ears. 

But, no Tilly. 

No.  
No no no no no no noooo...

\--------------------------

Matt paced across the wooden floor of his living room. He gripped at the hearing aids in his hand, squeezing his fingers around the molds as tight as he could without breaking their connections. He had managed to remove the battery from the back, unable to withstand the shrillness the feedback made without Tilly there to soothe them back into their calming hum Matt had been finding himself yearning for. 

It's sudden absence had sent Matt into a panic in less time than he'd ever care to admit. He almost hadn't realized he had texted Foggy until the sensation in his fingertips atop his phone thrashed back to him, pins and needles prying at his nerves. The phone read back his own words to him. 

*Matt:* Foggy. Something is wrong. She's not here.

*Foggy:* Give me 20 mins.

\----------------------

The world was fuzzy, dulling around the edges as everything starting to shift into focus, details sharpening as the shock of white light competed with the solitary confinement of the dark Tilly had been uncomfortably settled into. Yup, that crick in the neck is gonna definitely hurt for a few hours...

Before her vision could finish materializing into finer details, Tilly was struck immediately by the stillness of the world around her. 

Her ears.

They weren't in. 

No. No no no.

Those were hers. Those were hers...hers from Henry. Henry...that saved her...that gave her a second chance at life...no no no no no. 

Her vision finally settled, rushing her with her newest surroundings. A dim lightbulb dangled over her head, swaying gently in the soft breeze from wherever it was seeping in. The walls dripped eerily with condensation, glistening the darkened brown coloring the walls once had. The ground beneath his feet, oh thank christ her shoes were still on, was an odd combination of concrete and dirt. Not quite sure which one came first...but, the remainder was definitely an awkward love child of the two... Her arms were tied behind her back, pressing into the rusting metal of the chair. Shit, when was her last tetanus shot? Might need one just from breathing in this fucking place... Her ankles were bound to the front legs of the metal chair. Yup, definitely stuck in place. 

Well, this is so not ideal...

\-------------------------

"Matt? Matt! Matt open up."

Foggy's fist slammed frantically against the apartment door. Matt quickly made his way down the hallway, unlatching the door from it's lock and swinging it wide open. He knew he must look like shit when he heard Foggy's rapid heart beat stutter inside his ribs. 

"Fuck...Matt...what happened?"

Foggy stepped into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind him, making his way into the living room. He took to pacing the floor in the same worn away pattern Matt had been just moments before. 

"I...I don't know. We...we were up on the roof and we, uhm, we fell asleep...and...and I woke up...and she was gone. Just gone. And..."

Matt held up his shaking outstretched hand, hearing aids safely resting in his palm. 

"These were left...just...laying next to me...without her. She was...gone. Just..."

Fuck. Why was he crying? This girl pissed him off more than he could possibly fathom one person doing...and yet, he was lost...drowning in the rushing emptiness of her sudden loss. This was all of his fault. All of this. If he hadn't been such a fuck up these past few months...he wouldn't have put her in harms way...he wouldn't have let all those dipshit criminals roam around and end up taking her from him...he wouldn't have had his guard down while up on that roof...

...with her...under those stars...her warmth pressing against him...keeping him grounded...and safe...and ha...

No. No no no.  
Fuck.  
Fuck fuck fuck. 

"I have to find her."

Foggy must have been talking while Matt was having his own worthless pile of shit pity party all to himself...and he just definitely, and oh so rudely, cut Foggy off mid sentence...but, no...he had to find her. 

He had to.


	21. Death By Sarcasm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit. Well, she kind of always knew her wise ass mouth would be the actual death of her. She'd manage to piss someone off just enough. Tonight seems like a pretty good night for that...why not live it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a little bit shorter, but, I wanted to get something out. It's been a while and I wanted to post some more. 
> 
> Sarcastic Tilly is too much fun. And anything to do with Foggy makes me just too happy to keep it to myself for too long. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

"Matt, you gotta sit down. Just for a minute. We've gotta talk about this...come up with a plan."

Foggy stared up at Matt. He knew Matt could hear his pulse ticking away like some sort of makeshift timebomb, ready to explode out of his own chest. He had tried to calm it down, for Matt's sake, but...yeah, he failed. In the most epic of ways.

Current score : Foggy - 0, Matt - 1

Matt paused his pacing, glaring unevenly towards where Foggy was sitting on the couch. Matt huffed out, a little too overdramatically if you ask Foggy. Matt went right back to pacing a damn hole in the floor. Yeah, that suggestion went over well. 

Current score : Foggy - 0, Matt - 2

"Matty, we can't just storm in there, guns blazing, storming whatever castle whoever decided to lock her up in. I know I'm not like you two are, but...you gotta work with me here." 

Okay, maybe not the best usage of his nerd vocabulary, but it got Matt to slow down his one man mission to break through to the downstairs apartment ceiling. 

Current score : Foggy - 1 (fuck yeah, he'll take it), Matt - 2 (whatever)

Matt finally broke down and slumped into one of the chairs opposite Foggy. Matt's usual unfocused expression was harder, tight lipped line stretching across his mouth and worried wrinkles etched into his forehead. It was the kind of look Foggy may have only ever seen on Matt's face less than a handful of times. Wherever the hell this girl came from, for some reason, her head first introduction into Matt's world was deeply rooted into Matt's core...something Foggy knew Matt was in desperate need of. Someone to give a shit about him, and someone for him to give a shit about in return. Because...well, clearly Foggy was, also, doing a piss poor job of that.

Current score : Foggy - 0, Matt - 4  
Yeah, he lost his previous point. Being a shit friend will do that...

"I don't know what to do...where to start..."

The words tripping out of Matt's mouth gripped too tightly to Foggy's waivering heart strings. They were so broken, so fragile sounding. Matt seemed truly lost, unable to finesse his way through whatever jumbled world the two of those idiots seemed to have built these past few months. Any small kindling idea that Foggy may have had a chance with this girl was quickly snuffed out at the sheepish sound Matt's words barely made. Something was different about Matt when it came to Tilly, and it wasn't until just now that Foggy realized just how deep that difference ran.

Matt needed Tilly. 

As much as Foggy downplayed Matt being blind, and stupidly parading around the city at night in some goofy getup...Matt was still an unraveled mystery that Foggy could never unwrap. Sure, Matt let Foggy in on certain occasions, mostly when booze was strongly involved. But, Tilly had broken into Matt's unbreakable core and danced into the shadows of what can make Matt tick on an entirely different level. Foggy could sense it in the irritation Matt had faked prior, and now, in the fading confidence in his own abilities because a distinct piece of himself had been ripped away so suddenly, and so quickly from his own grasp. 

Tilly understood Matt. 

Nearly the same parts of Tilly were broken along the same fractures as Matt. Nearly identical traumas, outcomes and lifelong reminders mirrored themselves in each other. Graphic deaths of their families that they both were present for, even though they were such different ways...Tilly surviving while her entire family died and Matt hearing and finding his Dad's shot up body down the street. Life altering disabilities that forever changed how they exist in the world. Sounds forever muffled and silenced for Tilly, sights forever darkened for Matt. Shitty upbringings in shitty orphanges resembled one another so vividly. But, some foolish need to save and protect the grim world around them was, by far, the most mirrored and identical versions of themselves. 

Those two idiots deserved one another. 

And Foggy would be damned if he would just sit back and watch Matt spiral back down into whatever dark and creepy abyss Tilly somehow managed to pry him back out from. No. He let it happen once, because of him, and he refused to watch it happen all over again. 

Maybe Foggy should add a couple of points to his column...even out the score, maybe?

Ah, fuck it. 

\------------------

The air in the dimly lit room had definitely dropped a few degrees since Tilly woke up a little while ago. She wanted to say a few hours, but, that's asking for too much right now. She wasn't sure if maybe it was the moisture soaking into her skin or if the air really DID drop a few degrees. Regardless...she was now shivering. Fan-fucking-tastic. Nothing like a little bone deep illness to really liven up one's kidnapping...

The rusted door a few feet in front of her creaked and was forcefully pushed open. Three men with ski masks on rushed into the room, looking a little too eager to be doing their job. 

"Ski masks? Real original, boys." 

They each stood in what had to be the shittiest semi-circle Tilly had ever seen. 

"Okay, okay, clearly I can see your serious about this. But, first things first...which one of you is Moe and Larry and Curly?" 

She could see the fist curled and flying from her left before it connected to the side of her face. 

Well, first off, rude. 

She could see the fabric of the middle man shift where his mouth more than likely is. Tilly couldn't help but chuckle to herself. No sense in even asking questions when she can't hear a fucking thing anyways, since they either stole her ears from her or they left them behind. 

Second off, even more rude. 

"Hey, fucksticks, can't hear you. Sucks for you, but you guys managed to snag a near deaf chick without making sure she has her hearing aids. Kudos. Which one of you planned this top notch kidnapping? It's going really well so far..."

She didn't see that fist coming that time. 

Shit. Well, she kind of always knew her wise ass mouth would be the actual death of her. She'd manage to piss someone off just enough. Tonight seems like a pretty good night for that...why not live it up.

"Okay, now that was just rude. I didn't even get a decent dinner out of one of you before we started going at things good and rough." 

She spit out blood just in time for the lone ranger off to the right to finally step up and join in on the festivities, landing a solid thud into her abdomen. Man, good thing those stitches were all nice and healed up, or else Matt was gonna be bullshit at these guys. 

Tilly watched as more of the fabric moved on their faces. 

"Hey, again, fuckholes...I c a n ' t h e a r y o u. Fuck. At least let me read lips before you go swatting away at me because I can't answer your fucking questions." 

The men looked at one another, mouthing some sort of bullshit conversation Tilly didn't get to be a part of. Well, fuck them and their stupid ski mask party. She didn't want to be invited anyways. 

The middle guy hesitated before pulling the mask off of his face, staring down at Tilly with the sharpest scowl it seemed he could muster up at that moment. 

"Well, well, what's up handsome?" Tilly threw in a dramatic wink for added color, because, really, at this point, it's a whole lot of 'go big or go home'. "Got something you wanted to ask me, darling?" 

"Where is Daredevil?" 

"Not a fucking clue. Is this gonna be like twenty questions? Cuz, I gotta say, terrible start. You've got nineteen left...aaannnd go!"

"I know you know where he is. You've been working with him in the last few months and fucking up our entire operation. Where the fuck is he?" The man, surprisingly, mouthed the entire exchange slowly. Painfully slow. Really fucking painfully slow.

"Okay, sunshine, I appreciate the gesture, but I can read your lips when you talk normal. So, if you want future information out of me and don't feel like being here for the next three days...can I suggest you talk like a normal fucking piece of shit instead of this movie slo-mo version? Oh, and that counts as another question, so eighteen more to go."

Yup, she saw that fist coming. Motherfucker broke the skin. Awesome. The feeling of blood trickling down her face was exactly the sensation she had been missing. Perfect. 

"Oo, you have such soft hands. What kind of moisturizer do you use? Do you exfoliate? Sugar scrub? Do you get manicures?" 

Fuck, death by sarcasm. Actual cause of death.

The last closed fist, she saw just before the world went black again.


	22. Dead Center

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was comical. Foggy knew. From the outside of it all, looking in, he probably would have broken a rib from laughing so furiously. But, nope, his luck had him dead center in the worst turn of events of a search and rescue of a not-so-damsel in definite distress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied, why Tilly was taken was pushed aside for another Foggy chapter. I couldn't resist.
> 
> Warning for going through withdrawals, I suppose? I'm supposed to say that, right? Oh, and a generous usage of the word 'fuck', because, well, I don't really need a reason. It's a lovely word.
> 
> (Also, I apologize for the delay. Some very awesomely not awesome life moments decided to spring themselves onto me and kind of pushed aside any fluid thoughts...so, sorry it took so long).

"Jesus fucking christ, Matt. All I wanted to do was take a fucking piss...but, noooooo...somehow I'm still picking up after your dumb fucking ass...and this isn't even a fucking Daredevil thing...just a 'you being a fuckwit about shit and pushing all your friends away' type of bullshit again...fucking hell...yeah, I hope you can fucking hear me too, you stupid ass."

Foggy grumbled to himself, currently down on all fours, fuming as he scrubbed away at the dried up blood clotted to the grout work in Matt's bathroom. Deep inside, he knew, tucked away under the false security of anger, Foggy was petrified for his friend, if Matt still wanted him to be that to him. He was petrified and at a loss for how to lift Matt from this darkened and deep hole he was burying himself inside of, silencing away any and all helping hands and whole hearted protests from those that cared. But, Foggy couldn't find those words that Matt needed. He couldn't even begin to form the first letters of those words. So, he just scrubbed. And scrubbed. And scrubbed. 

Matt had finally managed to pass out on the couch, after another 4 hours of pacing back and forth across the living room, offering very little useful information to their Tilly Quest For Freedom. Shut it. The name is a work in progress. Currently dealing with Matt's bullshit decisions to come up with decent enough, awesome sounding Go-Save-The-Girl adventure titles. Cut a guy a little slack, okay? 

Once the bathroom tiles sparkled like brand new fucking porcelain teeth just freshly given to some Beverly Hills trophy wife...oof, okay, maybe Foggy was still slightly a bit in a sour mood...but, he also might have opened the door with a little too much force and let it slam against the inside wall of the bathroom with even more too much force...and couldn't help but laugh when Matt actually flew a few FEET off of the couch. Yup, that made up for the last hour Foggy spent on his hands and knees. (Do NOT tell Matt that he would have spent an eternity scrubbing Matt's blood away if it meant it would keep his dumb idiot friend safe...even from his own damn self...)

Matt stared, a little to the left, at Foggy, sleep and aggravation twisting and trying to win across the features of Matt's face. 

"What the fuck, Foggy?!"

Foggy padded across the wooden floor, placing himself down in the chair closest to the bathroom, unable to wipe the smirk from his face. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, Matt, did I wake you?"

"Fuck off, Foggy." 

Yeah, watching Matt turn into the perfect picture of a petulant little shit was something Foggy had definitely missed after all these months apart. 

Letting the smirk slide away, realizing exactly why he was even here in the first place, Foggy leaned forward, pushing aside his one man mission to annoy every ounce of Matt into the perfect tantrum. Hmm, maybe Tilly was starting to rub off on him. 

Shit. Okay. Focus. 

"Okay, Matt, I really need you to focus. What exactly can you remember about the warehouses you and Tilly were breaking and entering and assaulting people? I don't want to know about any other crimes you two comitted in the meantime...just the basics right now, please, for my ulcer's sake."

\--------------------

Matt closed his eyes, trying to force the looming migraine to stay at the base of his skull, where he could somewhat tolerate it for the time being. He really tried to focus on Foggy's words, pulling each word in and trying to get it to stick to the mushy surface of his brain. His nerves felt shot, wringing and stretching almost beyond comforting measures. He could feel his fingers twitch, shaking with a subtle shift he hoped Foggy wouldn't notice. The sweat beading across his forehead definitely wouldn't go unnoticed, his hair starting to stick to his skin. Fuck. Fuck. Not just a migraine. Fuck.

Fuck fuck. Now was not the time. No, no, no.

He sprung up, sending Foggy's heartrate to an uncomfortable rhythm. He stumbled his way towards the kitchen, hands held out in front of him, very blindly searching the air in front of him. He knew he was fading fast when he had to put his hands out in front of him, an act he only kept up for open public places, when he needed to keep up the facade so no one would suspect anything but a normal, visually impaired guy walking down the street and not a masked vigilante that roamed those same streets and very much so did NOT act the way a visually impaired man would act. (Matt, apparently, thought the general public was a lot brighter and intuitive than they actually were...instantly assuming a blind guy that can maneuver his way about the world with practiced ease is, without a doubt, a masked vigilante on a one man mission to clean up the streets of Hell's Kitchen and beyond. Clearly, a deviled horn masked guy flipping and spinning about was OBVIOUSLY the same person as the blind, clean cut lawyer they probably barely noticed during the day. But, that's for a much later talking session with himself that would most definitely end in a fight and he would argue with his mind that the public eye DID know it was actually him and he needed to continue on this odd plan he had to ensure his not-really-at-risk-so-far-identity remained anonymous to everyone). And, he definitely didn't need to keep that act up for Foggy's benefit. So, for him to stumble into the empty spaces before him, Matt knew he had only minutes before he started to fully withdraw.

Fuck. He thought he was hiding it so well, at this point. Yeah, Tilly saw right through him. But, fuck, she wasn't here...it was his fucking fault...and fuck this whole fucking...FUCK! 

Bottles clanged against one another, some rolling along the counter surface, some escaping and crashing loudly to the floor beneath his bare feet, shattering into the cracked spaces around him. He faintly heard Foggy rushing up behind him, yelling some string of words at him, but all Matt could focus on was the swirling blackness slowly surrounding and suffocating him. He could feel his breath catching in his throat, trying so hard to push past the dryness in his mouth. His hands were visibly trembling now, the shaking radiating up his arms and into his chest, such an odd contrast between the tensing and tightening of his muscles. Fuck. Fuck. 

His fingers brushed over the glass of the empty bottles. Fuck. Please, please let there be just one bottle...just one with just enough left in it...fuck fuck...

"Matt! Holy shit. Holy fuck! Holy fuck fuck!"

Matt spun towards the direction Foggy had to be in...it's where his voice was coming from...so, he had to be there, right? His twisted and mangled mind wasn't just forcing wanted voices into his head? Oh, fuck. Oh fffuuuckk, fffuuucckkk...

\-----------------

Oh fuck. Holy fuck. Nope. Not equipped to deal with this. Holy fuck. Holy shit. Holy some other curse word. Nope. Fuck definitely was the best choice. Fuck! 

Foggy's hands might have been shaking almost as much as Matt's were at this point. He had watched Matt stumble into the kitchen, crash into the counter edges without even a flinch or reaction, grasping desparately at the empty bottles Tilly must have lined up along the far back wall. He wanted to remind himself to thank Tilly for somehow managing to deal with this Human Shaped Disaster Called Matt Murdock at a less pressing time. She, somehow, managed to deal with Matt's shit much better than he ever could. Wait, is that her secret super power? Was she like Claire? Could she handle all this fucking chaotic nonsense and still manage to somehow come off as normal?! Whoa. Two Claires in the world...that was definitely a world Foggy wanted to be in. 

Okay, shit, wait, focus. Matt. Withdrawing. Fuck. Right? He's withdrawing? Fuck. Think, Foggy, think! Whiskey. Fuck. Get some more booze in him. Sounds like such bullshit. But, okay, fuck. He needed some Ativan. And Claire. Definitely the Ativan. For both of them. Yup, Claire, too, for the both of them. Soo much Ativan... Not the oral kind. No. Straight into the veins, thick liquid coarsing slowly into both of their winding and zigzagging veins, coating them with the calming blanket they were both so desparately in need of right at that moment. 

Foggy managed to find a half empty bottle of whiskey tucked into the furthest corner of the kitchen. He nearly threw himself across the top of the counter reaching for the bottle, untwisting the top with flawless precision, diving back to land in front of the slouching Matt. 

"Matt! Hey, hey Matt! Open your eyes. Hey, c'mon, I need you to drink something for me." 

Foggy tapped at Matt's cheek, attempting to keep Matt awake...keep him conscious. Okay, no, it wasn't a tap. Foggy kind of, okay, definitely slapped him. Once. Twice. Okay, five times...trying to hold himself back from enjoying it just slightly. 'Payback for the heart attack you fuck.' Matt's eyes lolled to the side, having even more difficulty focusing than they normally did. At this point, both Matt and Foggy had lowered themselves down to the ground, Matt curled into Foggy's chest, all of his weight now in Foggy's arms. Foggy curled his feet under himself, trying to keep Matt slightly upright, slightly supported. He tipped the cool neck of the bottle up to Matt's lips. 

"C'mon, Matty...take a sip. Please." 

Foggy tipped the half empty bottle upright, sloshing the amber liquid partly into Matt's mouth, partly soaking the front of both their clothes. Ugh, cheap stuff. The smell filled Foggy's nose, creeping in and demolishing what was left of his olfactory senses...rushing up and stinging at his eyes. Yeah, that's what those tears were for. Yup, totally. 

Hey, at least, this time around, Matt wasn't somehow managing to bleed half his own body weight onto Foggy as Foggy scrambled to somehow try and save the stupid dumbass' life, right?

"Oh, for fuck sake!" 

Foggy finally managed to survey his immediate surroundings, assessing whatever damage Matt made in his Nearly Withdrawing Almost Seizing But Definitely Twitching And Destroying Foggy's Safe Little World Like A Fucking Tornado... Shards of broken glass sparkled in the fading outside light, flickering with hues of yellows and purples from that fucking bullshit bulliten board outside Matt's windows, shimmering with speckles of fresh crimson dripping along their surfaces. Oh, yeah, and down Foggy's jeans. Yeah, because Matt was still curled up in Foggy's lap, twitching and spasms subsiding, shivering against the slick sheen of almost-seizing sweat.

He still really needed that fucking Ativan. Foggy. Not Matt. No, probably still Matt, too.

He settled for a swig of the grossest fucking whiskey he had tasted...worse than the swill from Josie's. What the fuck, Matt? Seriously? Can't eat a fucking apple unless some ancient holy one picked it from the highest and most purest mountain top and at least six other holy sainty like people kissed the reddest most prismatic color perfected skin...but...cheap fucking whiskey that tastes like seven different old timey pirates drank and sweated out the alcoholic remnants each...no, that was definitely Okay For Matt's Sensitive Palette List. 

Okay, so what if he finished off the rest of that bottle? (Okay, after he made sure Matt had quite a few more sips to keep whatever impending seizure buried deep fucking down). This was NOT what he was expecting to deal with when Matt texted him in a panic. 

But, that was his own fault for thinking anything would ever, EVER be fucking simple with Matt...honestly, Foggy had an entire library, like Beast's library he pseduo gifted to Belle sized library, and fuck off, he loved Disney...filled with historical references of just how NOT simple life was with Matthew Murdock in it. 

Fuck. 

"You're lucky I sometimes care about you, fuckhead." 

Oh, thank fuck heavens for whoever invented the word 'fuck'. 

Foggy stared down at Matt's stilling body, slipping in and out of unconsciousness curled up in his lap. Foggy struggled to climb to his feet, dragging Matt's limped form up with him. Yes, the counter behind him very generously helped and supported the awkward rising struggle of one not-so-with-it super buff, in shape guy currently flopping around in the arms of one sufferably-still-with-it NOT so super buff guy flopping around attempting to lift said super buff guy. 

It was comical. Foggy knew. From the outside of it all, looking in, he probably would have broken a rib from laughing so furiously. But, nope, his luck had him dead center in the worst turn of events of a search and rescue of a not-so-damsel in definite distress. 

Foggy managed to half drag/half, no...he dragged him all the way, over to the couch and even more impressively managed to position Matt onto that same fucking couch he always seems to end up on in his frequent unconscious states...and he'll completely deny the one or four times he might have dropped Matt onto the floor before successfully getting him onto the cushions. 

Foggy stumbled backwards, landing harshly onto the chair across the way once the back of his knees hit the edging of the chair's own cushions. He huffed out a few breaths. Yup, fuck, he definitely needed to start going back to the gym. Well, he's gone this long without actually going so far...what's another rest of his lifetime, really? Yeah, good talk, buddy. Like your thinking. 

Matt's arm flopped out away from his chest, fingers loosely curled around something in his hand. Foggy leaned forward, squinting his eyes against that same bullshit yellow and purple mixture of a fucking color, trying to focus on what was actually in Matt's hands, what he had kept in his grasp after everything that just happened...

Tilly's hearing aids.


	23. Pissing Off The Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt knew Foggy understood he was ready to fight that war, damn near pulsating with readiness, but...Matt also understood what Foggy had meant by planning each strike. Matt was going to fight that beast...but, he needed strategy...he needed more calculated blows than the ones he had been giving. Up to this point, he had just been poking...thoroughly pissing off the beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this one feels a little all over the place!

Another beautiful morning, where the sun is shining through the partially cracked open window, letting in the cooling fading summer daytime breeze, the lasting flowers puff out their inviting perfumes across the air, hopping along for the ride as the soft winds float across sun kissed skin. 

Oh, wait. Nevermind. That's right. Tilly is still face down, pressed against muddied dirt, stale, rusted water suffocating the trapped, regurgitated air within the cramped walls. No bed. No food. No water. No...nothing. Fuck. 

Days had to have gone by. Weeks? Months? Years? No. That's definitely not true. Total bold faced lie. Completely made up. Took one little detail and totally fucking ran with it. Sorry. But, definitely days, though. Possibly bordering on a week, if the stench coming from her meant anything. And oh, fuck, it definitely did. 

Even though the room was cool, damp...there was absolutely a smell coming from her that she was not a fan of. When she gets out of here...definitely gonna have to invent a deodorant that lasts for...however many hours were in a week. She's currently being held captured and tortured...she didn't need to think about that many numbers together right now. It was a lot of fucking hours. And her knock off brand under arm goop crapped out about...about the same amount of a lot of fucking hours ago. 

Moral of the story... Been here way too long.

Her capturers?...hostagers?...overly beefed up dudes getting smart and not wearing masks anymore so she can understand a fucking word they're saying while they beat the fucking shit out of her for information?... Hmm, that last one might be a little long winded... Let's shorten that to Guy 1, Guy 2 and Guy 3. Maybe, if everybody behaves, she can get a little more specific and maybe give each of them a better name with something descriptive about them. But, maybe not right now. No. Because, right now, they're crowded her already tiny, boxed off, secluded space. And, not in the friendly, first crush is shifting nervously on his feet fighting with himself to kiss you after a first date and slowly shuffles closer and closer on squeaking front steps, hoping to not be misreading the signs...no, not like that. These guys were invading her personal space with every intention to speckle the walls with polka dots full of pure Tilly essence.

Wow. Being held captive makes words so much more fucking difficult to string along...in a not incoherent way. Fuck. Stop it.

Moral of the story...round two. Tilly was about to get her ass beat for information about Daredevil. 

Hmm, and they must have thought that Tilly was anything but stubborn. 

Suckers. 

The lack of food and water these past few days had slowed Tilly's reaction timing down, significantly. At her best, most nutritioned fueled state, Tilly would have had the jump on the three men before they could finish getting themselves into their piss poor of an excuse for a semi circle. At her best, filled with muscle chomping calories or proteins or whatever else, Tilly would have pushed up from the dirt, sweeping her right leg out, twisting and colliding with a left calf muscle, knocking Guy 1 flat onto his back, oxygen rushing out of his lungs, gasping for his next breath. At her best, diabetic inducing sugary sweetness pulsing through her state, Tilly would have sprung up, striking her bent left elbow into the underside of Guy 2's jaw, quickly rotating and connecting her closed right fist against the already malformed nasal bridge, instantly crushing cartilage and causing a steady stream of beautiful crimson blood to rush down the lower half of his face, sending him down into a stunned slump beside Guy 1. At her best, the purest of refreshing and organ soaking water from up high in some perfect mountain side spring soaking her back into a once healthy state, Tilly would have easily spun on her heel, slamming her bent right elbow just below Guy 3's sternum, relishing in the painful cracking she would feel as his left sided 7th and 8th rib disconnected themselves sharply from their secured place, and she would swing from deep past her hip, raising her closed left fist to strike into that perfect, sweetest spot along his jaw that would instantly flutter his eyelids close as unconsciousness overtook him, allowing him to join his friends on the dusty, dirt floor. At her best, with some other overly worded, long drawn out analogy or run-on sentence about how she really needs some form of sustenance state, Tilly would have been able to leap over the makeshift pig pile of men and sprint to her hard fought freedom. 

At her best...yeah...at her best, she really could have done something, really could have...

Except, well, she was most definitely not at her best, and her thought worn mind and tension riddled exhausted body just couldn't prove her stubborn will to fight at that moment. 

So, she felt the sharp stings of closed fists. She felt the burning bruises of booted feet. She felt the metallic marks of weilding knives. She felt the...she felt the...she fucking felt everything. 

She knew all they wanted to know was where they could find Daredevil. She knew all they wanted to know was how both her and the masked man had stumbled across their operation. She knew all they wanted to know was what exactly she thought she was actually even protecting helping someone like that continue to warp the public's eye as to what a street-level hero actually was. 

They had asked her, before her eyes had swollen too much for her to be able to read their lips, if she truly believed in the man that called himself Daredevil. If she really felt he was making the city around her safer. If she truly believed she was doing the right thing protecting him. If one man was worth all of this pain and torture. And, when she allowed herself a fraction of a moment to think about what they were asking, what they were asking about Darede...about Matt...she could barely silence the overwhelming screaming answers her mind was creating...

Fuck, they talked too much. And Guy 2 always spit when he talked. C'mon man...that's just fucking gross. 

But, right now, bloodied, bruised, partially broken...she hated herself for almost wishing she could see Guy 2 spit when he spoke. That, at least, would help ease her out of her swirling fear of spiraling down into silent darkness, completely closed off from the way she navigates through the world. She had come so far the last time life decided to violently rip away one of her senses. She had fought and build and fought some more to get to where she was now. To catch the smells and the shapes and the colors and the waves as society and the world around her moved and shifted moment to moment. Even if she could no longer hear the way the birds sang in the morning without some electronic, robotic help...she would Fuck. No. C'mon, Tilly...pull it together. Stubborn will power, remember? 

Right? Fuck.

Remember. Okay? 

 

...please? 

\---------------------

Fuck. Another morning. And, Matt and Foggy still were nowhere closer to figuring out how to get Tilly back. It had been almost a week, now, when Tilly was grabbed from his side while they were up on that rooftop. And, every night, Matt had been tossing and turning, restless dreams, one right after the other. 

The details of the dreams were always fuzzy, pressing against his remaining senses, warping themselves from an imagined source from deep inside his mind. His body was trapped, paralyzed with some unknown restraint, his bones liquified, stuck flat to the surface of the rootop. Freezing shocks of ice slammed into his skin, the warmth that had been Tilly peacefully and sleepily wrapped around him ripped away from his side. Her voice echoed in his ears. Her words were laced with fear, soaked with pain as she screamed for his help, screamed his name into the quiet of the night. He tried to open his mouth. He tried to force his throat to push out the words his mind refused to muster up. He tried to slide his tongue across his lips, hoping, praying, oh god was he praying, that the words would slide across the dried out surface of his tongue. He tried to lift his arms. He tried to reach for her. He tried to stretch his fingers for her. He tried to pull her back to him. He tried to let her wrap herself back around him. He tried to let her keep him safe. He tries to keep her safe. He tried...to keep her safe. He tried...he tried...

Silence.  
Stillness.

And, then, he would wake up, jolted out of the darkness, only to find himself trapped in the same darkness. Only, it stung worse than when he was dreaming. Because...because...it was real. It was all real. She was still gone. And he was still here. And all he had were rubbery pieces clenched in his fist, turned off, silent from his ears. 

The world wasn't right without that soft humming. And that humming wasn't right without her with it. 

And, every early morning, he would rush his way up the stairs in his apartment, before Foggy would wake up, before the rest of the city would wake up, and throw himself onto the surface of that same rooftop, and wait. He would wait and wait and wait. Waiting for the first hints of the rising sun. Waiting for the first touches against his skin that the warming sun would make. Waiting for the world to slowly stir awake around him. Waiting. Waiting. 

Because, this was what she kept hidden to herself after all of these years. Because, this was what shared with him when he hadn't even asked. Because, this was where she went when she needed the world to make sense. And, right now, the world didn't make sense to him. 

It wasn't until the third morning, after she was taken away from him, that it finally sunk in for Matt. After all these months with her sliding in and out of his life, especially the past few times, where he lost himself so deeply in his dull, grayed out world...she was there. Without asking. Without demanding. Without expecting. And she would lift him up from the shattered pieces he would break himself into, somehow managing to carefully place them all back in place, stitching him closed, stitching him together. And, with each thread, Matt could feel that, for the first time, someone truly understood those fractured remnants he had always tried so hard to keep buried inside. 

Now, Matt knew that Foggy would, and has, always be there for him. Their friendship was, as much as Matt hates to admit it, mostly one-sided. Foggy gave everything. Always had. That's just who he was. Foggy's heart had always been too big to keep inside his own chest, had always been too full to keep it all to himself. And, Matt, well, he was one of the lucky ones that was on the frequent recieving end of that too big heart. Foggy had helped Matt through his rare vulnerable moments, without hesitating or bolting clear out of Matt's life. Foggy had even fought his own doubts when Matt opted for his life of vigilance and protection for an entire city of strangers, no matter the physical, mental, or emotional damage it would cost Matt...and, in turn, those closest to Matt...which included Foggy...and Karen...and, ultimately, Elektra...even though Elektra had some other outstanding circumstances tied along to it. The whole child trained assassin, raised to become the arch enemy of all the things Matt swore to defend really put a damper on the future of Matt and Elektra's future relationship...

But, aside from the fact that Foggy was one of the most important, and truly the best person Matt had ever had the pleasure to know...there was always some small part of Matt that knew Foggy wouldn't...couldn't...understand. And, as much as Matt wanted to believe Elektra could understand...Matt finally realized that, along with the rest of the world around him, she just couldn't. Nobody could. 

Until...until that soft humming broke into his mind, rattling around his mind, invading his every nerve...slowly warming him from the inside out. 

Tilly understood him. And, as much as Matt always believed he could stand in this world alone...as much as he believed he could fight and survive by himself...that there was nobody that could stand alongside and help him steer and walk along the shakey, faulted lines his feet stumbled across. He had been wrong all this time. 

Tilly steadied him. She reached inside of him and pulled at the tangled strings he twisted and knotted all these years, and gently pulled them apart, prying them to lay calmly beneath his scarred surface. She pressed into his racing mind, quietly repairing the broken doors and picking the splintered ashes up from where they had fallen, placing them safely back onto their shelves, without judgement. She never pried at those shelves. She never forced Matt to tell her about the dusty trinkets he carried with him all of these years. She never needed Matt to split open and carve out parts of him where she would force herself to fill. No. She had melted into those vacant spaces without her knowing...without Matt even knowing...slowly rebuilding Matt back into the shell of a person he had vacated so long ago. And, Matt hated himself for taking this long to realize all of this. 

Matt needed Tilly.

And, somebody stole her away from him.

And, he had no idea how to get her back. 

Footsteps from behind him pulled Matt back out from his thoughts. That familiar heartbeat. Foggy. Stuffy, shallow breaths puffed out into the morning air. 

"Hey, you're up. How you feeling?"

Foggy's voice was stretched, still rough with the pull of sleep behind it. Matt couldn't help but feel a sharp swirl of guilt. Foggy had done so much for Matt in just this past week alone. Again, and without expecting anything in return. And, Matt was just...well, being a stupid piece of shit. Drinking himself into the black hole Matt had created for himself, spreading the circumference wider and wider, the gravitational threat of his descending orbit pulling Tilly and Foggy down into the deep abyss of his pain and selfish sorrow. But, Foggy never waivered, and instead, forced Matt to climb up the rickety rungs of the makeshift ladder he built, climbing beind Matt to make sure that, even if Matt lost his footing, Foggy was right there to guide his feet back to where they needed to be. 

Even if Foggy could never fully understand Matt the way Tilly could...Matt knew he still needed Foggy in his life. 

Foggy had managed to pull Matt back from the brink of his alcohol withdrawals those first few days after Tilly had been taken. And, now, Matt had been able to keep away from the pull of the burning, stinging numbess the whiskey had given to him. Matt hadn't even been able to think about the sudden loss of the vice he had been losing himself to, not with the heart wrenching desire to bring back the warmth that was Tilly to him. But, even with the necrotizing edged hole ripping through Matt, he couldn't deny the faint relief of his clearing mind. 

"Getting there." 

Foggy had made his way across the roof to sit on the ledge of the building with Matt. Matt wasn't sure if it was the early hour still or the shared dread and whole body exhaustion they had been facing this past week, but Matt understood the silence spent between him and Foggy. They sat there, facing out into the wakening city, warm sunshine cresting and pooling across their skin, unsure of just how many passing minutes ticked by them both. A tiny part of Matt let himself feel that, for those few moments, the slow silence was something they both needed. 

\-------------------

"Where exactly were all of these warehouses located?"

"Just outside the city line. Y'know, by the water, the rundown dockyards."

"All of them abandoned?"

"Seemed like they all had been."

"But, filled with guns...drugs?"

"Crates of 'em."

"How were they getting their stuff? Anything shipping in from the harbor?"

"Could be. No one watches that side anymore. Could easily have boats in and out without anybody even noticing."

"You guys never saw any boats come in?"

"No, Foggy...I never saw any boats come in."

It felt nice to hear a laugh filter out from Foggy's lawyer heavy words. They had been at this all morning, this back and forth. Papers and maps and notes scrawled onto scraps of, well, anything they could find at that thought provoking moment, spread themselves out across Matt's living room. Matt had been searching the internet for hours, fingers close to blistering along the braille keyboard. He had flickered through local news articles, random blurbs, public records, police reports, shipyard invoices, hell, even social media blips. Nothing.

Matt had memorized the daily routines of just about every member of the growing organization that he had been following for almost a year now. He could tell you where they went for their morning coffees, what kind of cigarettes they smoked, the shitty bar they would wander off sometimes to, to pick up too drunk of women, and even down to the number of men that snored when they slept during their rotating watch shifts. 

But, all of that had stemmed and built itself up from months of shadowy recon vigils spent on numerous rooftops and more hours spent pooling together his own intel and confessions that he had beaten out of numerous organization members that had waivering loyalties. 

So, when both Matt and Foggy tried to pull together an actual solid plan of attack and rescue, Matt was finding himself begging for any hint that everything he had done this past year would actually pay off. But, that was when Matt would rush in blindly (ha ha) without any thought process or actual overall goal in mind. He just knew those men were pushing more evil out into the city...and Matt just wanted to punch something...hurt someone. He couldn't help feeling the same way right now...

But, Foggy had had to remind Matt to pull his anger back from the ledge and think about the impact of what would happen if Matt would rush into one of the buildings, not knowing if that was actually where Tilly was being held. Foggy, must to his dismay, understood enough of the dirty, bloody beastly underbelly Hell's Kitchen had been creating over the years...the one Matt had nearly killed himself a few times trying to defeat...to understand that, when threatened, that beast would puff out its chest, scramble and securely snatch all of its delinquent counterparts close to it's core, and prepare for the impending war brewing around it. 

Matt knew Foggy understood he was ready to fight that war, damn near pulsating with readiness, but...Matt also understood what Foggy had meant by planning each strike. Matt was going to fight that beast...but, he needed strategy...he needed more calculated blows than the ones he had been giving. Up to this point, he had just been poking...thoroughly pissing off the beast. 

"Holy shit!"

Foggy had sprung up from his bent over position at the small table behind the couch. Papers flew off the table's top, scattering and floating across the startled air. 

"Matt..."

Bleary, glosses over, never focusing eyes stared up towards Foggy...lagging just to the left of where Foggy must be standing...if his overworking, erratically pumping heartbeat was any indication. 

"What?"

"When was the last time you visited that crazy old butcher? Y'know, the one with the limp and the missing fingers?"

"Uhm, been a while...why?"

"You up for a nice, fresh cut steak for lunch?"

Seriously, Fog...food, right now? Ohh...wait. Suddenly, Matt felt the smirk stretching across Foggy's lips. 

Foggy had found their way in.   
Foggy had found their first step.   
Foggy had found their surprise first blow.  
Foggy had found their way for Matt to attack.   
Foggy had found their start to this war.

The war to bring down the beast.   
But, more importantly, at this moment, to Matt...and probably, to Foggy as well...

...the war to bring back Tilly.


	24. A Silent World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy faintly remembers reading the newspaper clipping before. As headlines go, Foggy was only slightly amused by the "spoiled meat" delivery. He needed to remind himself to have a chat with Karen about the paper using cheesy ironic one-liners. But...this! this tiny little scrap of paper was the first piece of anything that could help them finally figure out how the hell to get Tilly back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out!
> 
> Also, a quick heads up about a graphic memory regarding Tilly's family's death. It is very brief, but I just wanted to give the heads up. 
> 
> Also, just wanted to say I apologize if Tilly's thought process is sort of all over the place. Not sure if it was picked up in previous chapters that Tilly has ADHD. I, myself, was diagnosed years ago, so her sporadic thinking is much like my own. Much like in this chapter, when she is overtired or exhausted, thought processing tends to fluctuate and veers off quite a bit. I'm sorry if it's difficult to follow sometimes, but it is a part of her backstory. Just wanted to apologize for the all over the place dialogue!

It had to have been early morning. Or late at night. Or whenever the fuck time still existed. That questionable space, where both night and day mix together, and sleep, for some reason, hasn't been found, because it's a selfish motherfucker and is kicking the shit out of hide and go seek...clearly fucking winning at the moment. Where unconsciousness and awareness shift and melt and dissipate and churn and boil and seep and bleed and fester and stink and rot and harden and shatter and disintegrate...where the falling ashes burrow their way into the spaces inside of weakening lungs and start to suffocate...

No. Pull it together, Till. Suit up. Right now. There's not actually a suit...but, still suit the fuck up, Till. 

Till. 

She could hear her little brother's squeaky voice down the hallway of their two story house. She had always loved her house. It was the only one she had ever known. Her parents had bought it shortly after her Mom found out she was pregnant with her. "A bigger home to fill worth even more love". Her voice hurt to remember, like a vice grip clamping down on her heart. Tilly used to be so proud when strangers would tell her how much she looked like her mother. Light brown hair. Soft blue eyes. Just pale enough skin. Freckles trickling across cheeks. It was one of the reasons Tilly had avoided looking into a mirror for so many years after. She couldn't handle seeing her mother's eyes staring back at her. 

"Till!"

The small voice growing louder and louder was the only warning she had. A short, two second warning. Before the weight of a boney five year old crashed down onto her half-asleep frame. She buried her face beneath her pile of pillows, hoping the weight of the feathers would muffle the screeching rendition of her little brother's chorus of 'Happy Birthday'. Nope. Nothing could silence the shrill scream when he reached the end and dragged out the 'you'. 

"C'mon, Till! Up! Daddy's making cakes furr you! Birfday cakes ya favorts!"

Oh god, did she love when he messed up words. She dreaded the day when he could finally pronounce Lilly. It still baffled her how he came up with Tilly from Lilly. She pulled her head out from underneath the pillows, squinting to let the early morning sunshine in. She stared up into his mirroring blue eyes. Both her little brother and her got their mother's blue eyes. Her older brother got their father's warm brown eyes. The wide, gap toothed smile beaming down at her was brighter than the sun coming in. Dimples and missing teeth, freckles like hers, messy light brown hair sticking out in every which way. 

Birfdays...err...birthdays...were always a big deal in her house. Hers was more of a One Last Hurrah before going back to school. The last day the fair was in town this year just happened to fall on her 7th birthday. 

"Up! Up Tilly! I pwomist Mommy I won't not eat cakes wifout you!" 

Seriously. Can she be anymore in love with her adorable little brother? She had always had a special place in her heart for him. From the very first moment her mother told her she was going to be a big sister. She adored her big brother. But, this was her chance. Her chance to be the protector. She didn't really understand it at that time, but she could feel it inside of her. That, with everything she had in her, she was going to smother that baby with all the best kisses and stuffed animals she had. And, from the moment her father laid his tiny body in her arms in the hospital, not being more than 2 years old at the time, she knew it. She was going to protect her little brother from the entire world. Just like her big brother did for her. 

So, staring up at the chubby little face bouncing on top of her, she lunged forward, tickling until he was laughing silently, breathless and happy. She climbed her way out from underneath the covers, standing at the edge of her bed, waiting for him to climb onto her back, like they do every morning. 

As she made their way to the hallway, she could hear her mother's voice from downstairs, singing along to the music on the radio, listening to her father's laughter as he finished cooking breakfast. When she finally stepped down off the last step of the staircase, turning the corner into the kitchen, the view she had is one she would keep burned in her memory, so she could remember every detail.

Her mother setting the table, sunshine illuminating her from behind, encasing her body with the softest yellow glow. She looked like an angel. 

Her father hunched over the stove, spatula in hand as he flipped over another perfectly golden brown pancake, warm happiness oozing out of every inch of him 

Her oldest brother rushing in from the back door, their greyish blue pitbull happily trotting in from behind him. 

Anything else could happen that day, and Tilly wouldn't care. This, this moment in time was her heaven. Her warmth. 

And...well, hindsight is a mother fucker. Because, in just a few hours, that would be the last memory she would have of her family on her birthday. In just a few hours, she would be holding onto her little brother's dead body in her arms, staring into his half opened, lifeless blue eyes, screaming that she was sorry she couldn't protect him, she couldn't save him. 

She screamed and screamed, her family's blood and lifeless bodies pooling around her, and she screamed until she thought she had wrung out her voice, and she couldn't hear the sounds she was making anymore. It wasn't until later that she found out the explosion nearly destroyed her ear drums, violently thrashing her into an almost silent world. 

A silent world. Where she was entirely alone. 

No. Fuck. Stop it. Not going there. Pull it together, Tilly. Now is not the time to be reliving botched and blurred chapters in the well worn Book of Tilly. 

What fucking time was it, anyways? When was the last time those assholes were even in here last? 

Her body ached. Sore from almost head to toe. Bruises and cuts and, fuck, definitely broken bones scattered across and underneath her skin. There may have been tears, but those have long since dried up with the lack of water. 

A single person can go 7 to 12 days without water, right?

Today was day 6. Well, pretty sure it was day 6...that whole awareness thing is really putting a damper on rational thinking. And it's probably best to just sidestep the useage of 'rational thinking'...because, well...rational thinking isn't a very prominent fixture in her attention deficit fueled ramblings she pretty much constantly lived in. No...those rational thinking sentence things people talk about...those usually happen AFTER she already kind of fucks up and her mind hyperfocuses on just how much of a fumbling moron pretending to be an adultish kind of person she really is. Oh, hi there, anxiety. Welcome to the pity party room. Sorry, the place is kind of a mess. Haven't really been able to get a good cleaning session in. The dirt floors and constant leaking from the rusted pipes makes getting that deep cleanliness effect going. But, please, have a seat. 

6 days without food and water is really fucking up with her questionable rationality. 

Again...with that hindsight bullshit. Seriously...what is with that fucker, huh? Hindsight really needs to get a hobby and back the fuck off. 

Okay, and in all fairness, Tilly was never a big fan of deadlines, or following the rules, per se. So, maybe that 7 day rule didn't apply to her. Fingers crossed, everybody. Maybe cross some toes...to be on the safe side. Yeah, even the legs, too. 

No. Shut up, stop it. Matt would find her. That was their thing, right? They find each other and save each other from the stupid shit they get themselves into. Even if most of those things were really kind of Matt's fault...but, shhhh, don't tell him that. Really not in the mood to deal with his 'the world is over but I can't let anybody know that's really how I feel so I will just pout and aimlessly stare off into this horrible space no one else gets to live with me in because I'm a selfish asshole and don't want to share my sadness or breaking heart with anybody so I will just sit here and wallow in my self-harming thoughts and glance over at you from time to time with my adorable puppy dog eyes that you can sure as shit bet that I perfected in the mirror when I was a kid and could still see and muscle memory is a hell of a thing because it still fucking works to this day.' 

Wow. Matt talks a lot in her head. And has a terrible understanding of english composition. Run on sentences can kill, Matthew. Probably only really like English teachers and writers and editors, but...put them all in a room together, that'll be like at least a handful of dead people. And what if that room doesn't belong to anybody that's in it? And the actual room owner comes in and sees these random dead people scattered around the place...only getting slightly pissed about the dead guy hanging off the side of the brand new couch. And now, that person has to deal with the weirdest party pig pile of people in their house and that they need to get a new couch. And a new house. And, probably a whole shit ton of therapy. Because, they really liked that couch. And, yeah, the dead people. Don't be that asshole, Matt. 

Thinking was getting a lot more difficult as the day slash night slash forever was dragging on. Normally, stringing along half thoughts and blurted out conversations was classic Tilly. Who knew Adderall at full price cost so fucking much? But, her run on, very tangent tripping thoughts should be concerning to her. 

Today was day 6. Maybe there was some truth behind that 7 to 12 day theory...only one more day to find out. 

No, yeah. Matt would find her.

Matt will find her.

 

 

He'll find her. 

"He'll find me. He'll find me. He'll find me..."

\-----------------------

"The Punisher Chopping Down Again Hell's Kitchen : Local Butcher Shop Cut Clear Of Spoiled Meat"

There it was, tucked between whatever manilla folder and useless pages and pages of pointless crap, at this point. Papers and folders, files and clippings. Words and sentences. Headlines and fillers. Everything had started to blend and blur together. Foggy's eyes were scratchy, worn with lack of sleep, and probably lack of food, too. That has to effect eyesight, right? Yeah. Definitely has to. 

Foggy had been hunched over the same piles of papers and reports for the past few days. It has been six days since Tilly was taken from the rooftop. Six days. And he felt like he was getting nowhere. Neither of them were. 

Granted, they had lost two days when Foggy had to pull Matt back from his alcohol withdrawals, which, he had still been keeping a very close eye on these past four days since successfully keeping Matt clear of withdrawal seizures. But, he would never hold that against Matt. Not when he knew just how guilty Matt was feeling. 

No, he didn't blame him for feeling guilty, either. Foggy understood. Matt had been by Tilly's side, apparently all wrapped up and happily sleepy with one another. (No, that isn't bitterness. Really. That's actually got a lot of deep down happiness for Matt buried in there. Seriously. Fuck right off if nobody believes him.) And, even with Matt's superhero senses (shut up, Matt. That's what they are, so...), even with those...she was taken out from right underneath his arms. Literally. And probably his legs, too. Matt likes to climb and wrap himself around the closest body when he sleeps. Death grip status. Gorilla glue hold. A very unusual four limbed octopus. Is that a thing? Quadropus? Mattapus? Mattypus? Okay, these are getting really close to bordering on dirty...and Foggy might not be able to pull himself back from that fun ledge of inappropriate comments. Now was not the time. 

...maybe later, though. 

The fatigue swimming behind his eyes almost made him miss the softened paper, black ink contrasting against the off-white surface. It must have gotten tucked away when they...nope, when MATT...yes, stupid Matt and his stupid bullshit decisions...had decided to represent Frank Castle in trial last year. (Okay, so not ENTIRELY just Matt's idea. Karen was a part of that... And Matt's love drunk heart. God...was Foggy always gonna be wrapped up in Matt's little cheesy romance novels? Cut the shit, Matt. The Notebook was great. The Twisted Backwards Tale of Matthew Murdock and his Horrible, Terrible, No Good Way To Fucking Manage Any Sort Of Romantic Relationship and We're Not Even Going To Get Into Other Relationships Right Now...would not translate well into both written and movie form. And, also...the title is kind of a mouthful...) 

Foggy faintly remembers reading the newspaper clipping before. As headlines go, Foggy was only slightly amused by the "spoiled meat" delivery. He needed to remind himself to have a chat with Karen about the paper using cheesy ironic one-liners. But...this! this tiny little scrap of paper was the first piece of anything that could help them finally figure out how the hell to get Tilly back. 

"Holy shit!"

Foggy jumped up out of his chair. Whoa. Head rush. Oh yeah, that food thing. Papers floated down in the air around him, settling across the floor by his feet. 

"Matt..."

Shit. Matt looks like shit. Matt looked like a few days worth of leftovers from the back of the fridge...the kind that had already been there for six weeks and no longer remotely resembled it's original form...where the colors took on a new disgusting mash up of decaying grays and pukey greens...where the smell that filled the empty spaces of the fridge could upturn a stomach while still disintegrating the acidic liquid sloshing around. Add a couple more days to that. That is exactly what Matt looked like. Eyes glossed over, skin pale, jaw covered in messy stubble, and dark purple splotches under his far away hazel eyes. Has he even slept, yet? Fuck, stay focused. Add that to the list of 'Talk About Later' shit. 

1) Mattypus Dirty Jokes  
2) Matt Resembles Rotting Questionable Food

Foggy left space because he knew he would be adding to that list a whole fucking lot in the next few days. 

"What?"

Oh, yeah, that's right. He's supposed to be talking. About what? Oh yeah, shit. The butcher shop.

"When was the last time you visited that crazy old butcher? Y'know, the one with the limp and the missing fingers?"

Foggy had been to this butcher shop more times than he could count when he was younger. Back before he and Matt ever met. Foggy's mother always wanted a good cut of steak the third Friday every month. It was, sort of, the Nelson Family Tradition. Every third Friday, no matter what anyone had going on, the entire Nelson clan would gather for dinner. Foggy's mother would cook up the slightly overpriced cut of beef and mash up a few pounds of potatoes and a side of seasonally appropriate vegetables and some homemade biscuits. It was such fond memory for Foggy. It even extended into his college years. Foggy would even drag Matt along. Because, according to Mrs. Nelson, Matt was family.

And this was a family tradition.

So, on those third Fridays of the month, in between their study sessions...or, well, Matt's study sessions and Foggy's attempts at avoiding textbooks of any kind...the two of them would make their way down to the butcher shop, pick up the largest slab of meat they could afford, and make their way to the Nelson household.

The first time Matt was introduced to Lenny the Butcher, Lenny very happily retold the story Foggy had heard so many times about how he lost his fingers. Lenny was definitely pushing this side of crazy, but it was a crazy Foggy couldn't help but find endearing. It was that kind of crazy that Foggy knew, as long as he kept on the right side of it, Lenny would never cause any harm or trouble towards Foggy, and would actually look out for him. Foggy actually found himself feeling protective of the man, fond of him, even. Like his own crazy uncle. Foggy would always laugh at the dramatic retelling, regardless if it was the 97th time he had heard the same story. Matt very politely listened, somehow getting the vibe that Lenny the Butcher had some darker secrets he wasn't adding to the story he was telling. But, Foggy trusted the man, so Matt trusted him, too. 

"It was back in the 70's. Some asshole decided it would be a great idea to come in and try and rob me of my profits that week. Tried to take me out back and had a few of his own guys waiting for me. Good thing I always carried my cleaver with me. A bullet into my thigh didn't slow me down, though. I got both of that man's hired thugs with my cleaver and that asshole never tried to steal from me again." 

Matt had known there were definite details missing from that story. Nothing ended that clean, especially from the 70's. And, while that story explained the limp, it hadn't explained the missing fingers. And, when Matt had asked Foggy about it one day, Foggy simple laughed.

"As unbelievable as it's gonna sound, he was chopping up scraps when he said "the most beautiful woman he had ever seen" walked by the window, smiled at him, and he brought the cleaver down trying to impress her while keeping eye contact with her. He, uh, missed the scraps and chopped off his last two fingers." 

Matt had just stared at Foggy in disbelief. 

"Oh, don't worry. He got the girl's number. They've been married for 40 years, now." 

So, when Foggy had come across the news article about Frank Castle breaking up the drug ring taking place in the back of Lenny's Butcher Shop, Foggy couldn't believe it. Lenny wouldn't have let something like that happen, not under his roof, not by his meat. But, it had been a few years since they've been there. Mandatory Third Friday Steak Dinners had stretched and gone forgotten since Foggy and Matt graduated and started their own firm. 

"Uhm, been a while...why?"

"You up for a nice, fresh cut steak for lunch?"

Okay, maybe a small portion of that statement attached itself to the very audible reminder from Foggy's stomach that he really needed to eat, but...well, Foggy and Matt were about to do some investigative work. 

He just hoped that they could figure out what exactly happened without having to get in touch with The Punisher himself. 

Sure, Frank and Matt had come to some sort of understanding...but, that didn't erase the uncomfortable feeling Foggy felt towards the guy. Yup, Frank sort of scared the fucking shit out of him, and Foggy absolutely would be the first to admit to it. But, if it came down to working with Frank Castle to find Tilly...well, he would do anything to help get her back.

But, okay, he might have, maybe, no, definitely had his fingers crossed that it wouldn't come to that.


	25. Long Time, Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suck in the air, hold the breath, and wait for the clicks as the train car chugs up to the first descent...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever to get out! 
> 
> Some all over the place Tilly, some Lenny, some really angry Matt, and some more. 
> 
> Let me know what you think.  
> Hopefully it won't take me too long to get the next part out!

The room was starting to close in on her. Okay, maybe it wasn't really. But, fuck, the walls were boring as shit but maybe they were definitely colonizing some type of fungus that was gonna slowly start seeping its way across the dirt floor and inch by inch, engulf her in its twisting webs of cellular death, snuffing out, one molecular atomic speck of life at a time.

Uhm, what?

She could see the tentacles, oozing and pussing with that yellowish bile shadowing only the most putrid of secretions could ever produce. They stretched out across the muddied floor, reaching, wrapping, clenching the life from her throat. She could feel the fiery warmth of that same yellowish bile flooding down her throat, burning inside of her stomach, eroding herself away from the inside out. 

Again, uhm fucking what?

Nope. Wasn't from some tentacle fucking nonsense. Yeah, that bullshit was pouring out of her own mouth. And that wicked awesome smell? Definitely the parts of her own stomach acid she just upchucked still dripping out of her nose. 

Attractive. Totally. 

God, her stomach ached. Maybe even just as much on the inside as it did on the outside. She lifted her shirt, exposing her sunken in torso. Dark, dark purples and reds layered themselves across her ribs and lower abdomen, creating the most oddly intricate plaid-like morbid version of a way too flashy Hawaiian button up. The kind tourists wear when they manage to make that very long, very fucking long flight to those islands in the middle of that ocean? 

What? She read about it, once. And tried to figure out how long it would take to actually make it there. If, and with the most largest, most obnoxiously CAPS LOCK any two letters could manage...IF she could ever manage to ever get there. Really, she just wanted to see a volcano. The way the lava would churn, melting into itself, heat radiating all around as it exploded and blended into its surrounding landscapes, sinking further and further into the earth. 

Or...maybe she was just realizing she needed to dry heave up the non-existent bile that was still simmering onto the dirt in front of her. 

Day seven. An entire week. No food. No water. No hope...

Well, shit. Those masked fuckers really knew how to get into a girl's head, huh? 

Her own sigh escaping her raw throat startled her. Okay, fine, it scared the shit out of her. It was the sharp rush of air deflating her lungs shook her withering muscles. Definitely wasn't the sound. No. She was still stuck in that limbo space between the whispered silences she sometimes could naturally hear, and the musical lullabies she could dance along to with her aids. 

She absently traced the empty space along her ear, letting her fingers feel along the wide open vastness the cartilage there made without her hearing aids. Oh, fuck. Here it comes. Memory Lane coming to absolutely fuck shit up, force Tilly to feel things. 

Fuck. Feelings, right? 

Welp, if memory lane is gonna come forcing it's way in like the fucking Kool-Aid guy, smashing through those boring as shit and figurative fungus growing walls surrounding Tilly...well, fuck it. Let's go. "Oh yeah!" Ugh. Just to clarify...definitely not a fan of this "feels" little kid sized amusement park train ride...one must be this tall to ride. Nope. Slouch the shoulders. Falls down on knees. Fucking pretend 42 inches is another five years of growth away. 

Nope? Didn't work? Well, fucking bullshit...

Suck in the air, hold the breath, and wait for the clicks as the train car chugs up to the first descent...

Henry had worked so hard to get her those aids. He worked so hard to make sure she had everything she needed after the explosion. He went with her to every appointment. He worked every day with her to focus on her using her aids to hear, the ways she would need to turn her head so her stronger ear could hear. She had been lucky having speech before the explosion, but the fire from the blast burned her throat that her voice had been taken from her for a few months while the lining in her throat healed. Henry would sit so patiently with her, teaching her all the new signs he learned that day. And after, he would read her stories at night, letting her lay her head against his chest so she could feel the vibrations until she would fall asleep, and then he would sit up in his own bed for hours after, teaching himself some more signs that he could teach her. 

Click. Click. Click. 

Within the first month, she had the entire alphabet, numbers 0-100, colors, shapes, most foods and basic greetings down almost perfectly because of him. Even when her throat had mostly healed and her voice had barely rasped, Henry would still teach himself more signs, in case anything was to ever happen again. He had known it from the moment he pulled her scared, tiny little body from around her brother's lifeless one, and those searching blue eyes of hers had stared up at him through relentless tears, that he was going to do whatever he could to make sure that little girl would never suffer again. That that moment was going to be the only bad memory she would ever have again. 

Keep holding that fucking breath. Don't even dare to let it out. 

Click. Click. Click. 

Tilly smiled at that memory. It had always been one of her favorite stories Henry would tell her when they would watch the sunrises on the rooftops in the mornings, how Henry found her that day and became her own superhero. And, yeah, Tilly might definitely have laughed out loud to herself in that stupid bullshit swampy room, realizing the surreal irony to that statement... Henry had become her own superhero, her little life put entirely in the hands of some stranger...just a little too ironic that Matt seemed to be falling into that same category. Well, maybe. Who knows. Maybe Matt would show up. Maybe not.

No. Pinch the bridge of the nose. Bite down on the sensitive skin of the lips. Keep that breath held in. Don't let it out...

Fuck. Memories, man. No. Go back to the good stuff. Henry. Saving her. Healing her. Protecting her. Showing her that happiness was still there in the world. 

Click. Click. Click. 

And, yeah, Tilly had known it from the very first moment Henry lifted her up into his arms. The world had imploded around her, and well, maybe more technically it had exploded, and everything she had ever known was ripped away from beneath her. This man had pulled her into his arms, lifted her up away from all of those things that would shred holes into her heart, her mind, her being. This stranger had looked down at her, bending down to her small height, smiling softly at her to reassure her that he was there to help her, to get her to safety. 

Click.

When he lifted her up into his arms, she had clung her arms around his neck and legs around his waist so tightly that he didn't even have to actually hold on to her as they walked to the waiting ambulances. When he tried to untangle her arms and legs to place her onto the stretcher, she only clung tighter to him. It was only after his airway was being threatened that he conceded and climbed his way into the back of the ambulance, positioning himself on the stretcher, letting himself be buckled in with her securely wrapped in place. He tucked the pale orange blanket around her shaking body, resting his arms across her back, gently rocking her side to side as they made their way to the hospital. She clung even tighter to him when they finally arrived in the ER and he tried to set her down on the stretcher. So, just like in the ambulance, he climbed onto the stretcher and held onto her tightly, gently rocking her side to side. 

Click.

And when they tried to place her into the MRI, she thrashed and kicked so violently that she accidentally made contact with a few staff members, drawing blood after a rather impressive left hook. He scooped her up off of the table, cradling her against his chest, rocking her slowly from side to side again as he paced up and down the length of the hallway. It took a while of rocking and pacing before she noticed she was matching her breathing to his. 

When she had finally calmed enough, he walked back to their room in the ER. He sat down on the stretcher, positioning her into his lap so he could tip her head up to his. Her eyes stared back at him, past the point of exhaustion, red coloring all around them, burned from the salt of her tears for however long she was alone in that field. He smiled that same soft smile at her, that same one from when he first crouched down in front of her, hands outstretched, offering her desperate safety. 

Click.

She watched his lips move. She watched as his teeth sometimes touched with certain movements his mouth made. She was pretty sure he was talking. She couldn't hear his voice. Maybe he needed to talk louder. She looked back up into his eyes, confusion settling across her face. She reached a hand up, pointing to her ear. She hoped he would understand and talk a little louder. She looked back down at his mouth. 

He didn't seem to understand what she meant. 

The doctor had come back into the room, and it was only when she watched the doctors lips moving, and felt the vibrations from Henry's chest as he spoke back that she realized she couldn't hear them. Fear had spread back over her. 

Click. Click. How fucking far up is this first fucking climb?! 

There she was, just seven years old, at least she was pretty sure it had still been her birthday. Maybe it was the next day by that point. She wasn't all that sure actually. She was sitting in some scary hospital, with some strange doctor standing in front of her, sitting with the only sign of familiarity and safety she had known those past few hours, after being motionless beside her lifeless family members; she couldn't hear. 

She hit her hands rapidly against Henry's chest. Both Henry and the doctor paused their conversation and looked down at her alarmingly. She tried to tell him she couldn't hear him, couldn't hear the doctor, couldn't hear anything, but nothing came out. Her throat had burned so fiercely that she grimaced without meaning to, tears starting to fall. Concern had quickly spread across Henry's face. He was talking to her, she knew he was. His lips were moving quickly, nervously, frantically. She tried to muster out some noise from deep in her belly, but she couldn't get anything past the raw, torn lining of her throat. Her fear quickly formed into panic as her eyes darted around the room, her breaths quickening, causing more and more pain to her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut at the pain, forcing more tears to fall, gripping her throat instinctively to try and stop the pain. 

Henry had reached both hands up and had gently grabbed onto her forearms, pulling them gently down away from her neck. She just stared up at him with burry vision, blinking rapidly to clear away the tears. She saw his chest rising and falling quickly. His mouth was still moving so fast. She twisted her arms free from his hands. She lifted a finger to his mouth, pressing against his bottom lip. She raised her other hand to her ear. She waited until his focus had bounced back and forth between her two stilled hands before shaking her head no. 

Click. Click. Fucking click. Clickitty click click fucking click. 

It had taken him a few moments before he realized what she had meant. She saw it in his eyes, the moment he understood. He smiled at her, a small reassurance that told her she was still safe, and she fell back against his chest, letting a long breath exhale through her nose, not even flinching at the pain in her throat. 

Henry had stared back up at the doctor helplessly. She could feel him talking, and talking quickly from the way his heart pounded between the vibrations his voice was making. Her entire world had literally exploded, and she would be left suffering in so many ways in the aftermath. But, having one of her senses ripped away from her as well... 

Click. Fuck. Click. Here it comes. 

Somehow, he must have known, because he wrapped his arms back around her shaking shoulders.

Click. Click.

Those arms pulling her closer into his chest.

Click. Click.

The clicks were getting further apart. She could feel them in her bones at this point. The train car was slowing. Her stomach dropping into her fucking toes. It was coming. That descent. 

Those arms somehow protecting her from the entire world. 

Click. 

She knew. 

Click.

She knew he would, too...protect her, no matter what. 

Click.

Even when that man held a gun to Henry's head, and Henry saw Tilly down the street, skipping along the sidewalk, bouncing up and down, without a single care in the world, on her way to meet up with him after school...like they always did...like they always would. And Tilly saw that man's thumb pull back on the hammer.

Click.

Saw his finger move to the trigger, saw the blood blanche to white under his index fingernail as he squeezed.

Click. 

Tilly huffed, shoving her hands underneath her chest, pressing her palms into the dirt floor beneath her. The dirt scratched at her dried out skin, stuffing its way into the cracks and creases in her skin. Her elbows shook, crashing against either side of her ribs as she tried to steady herself back onto her knees. Yup, those were wobbly too. Fuck. Stand up. Just get one foot underneath...then the other. C'mon. Stand up. Before those fuckstains come back in. Stop thinking about Henry. Stop. Not the time. 

Her sneaker kicked up a cloud of dust, billowing into her flaring nostrils. She couldn't breathe. Hacking. Coughing. Suffocating. Stop. Stop it. Jump down off of that fucking little kids amusement park train ride right now. Shrink down below 42 inches. Hold in that breath. Stop. Click. Stop. Click click. Stop. Click. Click. Click. Train wheels chug. Climbing. Ascending. Click. Rolling just before the descent. Click. Clear blue eyes. Click. Click. Searching down the sidewalk, pleading, apologizing. Click. Arms holding her close. Click. Ponytails bouncing. Feet giving out. Click click. Cotton candy. Click. Little brother's hand holding hers. Click. Sign language. Cheek pressing into the dirt. Click click. Click. Rooftop Sunrises. Click click. Trigger pulling. Vision blurring. Blood splattering. World exploding. Click. Click. Lifeless eyes around her. Lifeless eyes. Click. 

Click.

She lets out that last breath just as the train car tilts over the top of that first climb, the wind of the world rushing over her as she closes her eyes, arms flailing out to her sides as darkness and uncertainty surround her. 

And, if she let unconsciousness pull her under, well, that is heresay. Either way, that amusement park is going to get a very strongly worded letter regarding the reminiscing powers their stupid fucking train cars seemed to possess. 42 inches...pfft. Not cool. 

But, the darkness is so comfy...maybe, just for a little nap? Just a few minutes. Be up before the last loop-de-loop. Wide awake before the train ride is over. Totally promise. 

Fucking train cars, man.

\-------------------------

The rush of daytime pedestrian traffic startled Matt's dulled down senses. Now, to say his senses were dulled down still didn't soothe the overwhelming onslaught of commotion the outside world brought to him day after day. Sure, his super convenient alcohol withdrawals kept his usually heightened, well, everything dialed down to about a 6 on his scale of about 12. That's where he liked to think his senses lived. Everyone else floated by at about a 7 or an 8...maybe even a 9 for those super intuitive folks. But, Matt lived consistently at about 12. 

Except, for today. Today...today he was bouncing in between the swarms of heartbeats, the chaos of half finished-half heard conversations, the swirl of body odors and terrible perfumes and colognes, the tongue numbing taste of stale coffees and overpriced muffins from that bakery three blocks over. Everything was making Matt's brain slosh inside of his skull. Or, well, that could be a little bit of squash rot that he definitely had the beginning makings of...with the amount of whiskey he's consumed in the past year. 

Inner checklist...work on coping skills, Matt.

Fold up that list and tuck it away so it can be completely forgotten about within the next five minutes. 

Grit a half mouthful of teeth, clench a jaw, and square off weighted down shoulders. Let the absolutely rancid collection of dying and decaying raw meats wash over and slowly suffocate in the...

"Franklin fucking Nelson? Is that you?"

The odd mixture of raw meats and patchouli oil twisted not-awesomely in Matt's stomach. Again, maybe he was a little off in how he handles his senses at the current present right now moments...but, that awful scented mixture was something that pulled him back to his younger years, the few times he would accompany Foggy to all of those family dinners he had unofficially been adopted pretty fucking quickly into. Mrs. Nelson basically wrapped Matt in a hug on their first meeting and claimed him as her second son. No questions asked. No chance for a rebuttle. "You such your mouth right now, dear, and let me smother you with all my leftover motherly love." Holy fuck, did that lady have an entire fuckton of leftover love, apparently. No wonder Foggy is the way he is...more love inside all that fleshy packaging, just busting at the seams, practically oozing out of every single orifice, dripping and melting itself to wrap around Matt's own mangled fleshy container of angsted-the-fuck-out-feelings and twisted-to-shit-thoughts. And Matt...ha, good 'ol stubborn as shit Matthew Murdock...clearly ignored every speck of that wholesome goodness Foggy had been trying so desperately to soak through that soured candy coating of his. Such a fucking idiot, Matt. 

"...buncha wannabe tough guys roaming out in tha back. Taught 'em a thing a' two 'bout doin' that type a shit in my place a business."

Super job, Matthew, zoning out in that murky little head again. Pay the fuck attention, sir. Tuning in halfway through the fucking program isn't gonna help Tilly out. At all. Thumbs up, dumbass. 

"...when Frank Castle, uhm, intervened?"

Fucking really, Matt? What's the point of those super duper senses if they're just gonna take a back seat while that ivy league brain starts spacing out like a drugged out club girl all glittered up and scantily clad awkwardly twisting and bending to some unbelievably grating attempt at music? Okay, maybe that was uncalled for. He didn't really know that club girl. Maybe she was just letting off some steam. Not that Matt would really know what any of that is like. 

Inner checklist...seriously, work on coping skills, Matt. 

"...that Punisher fella? Yeah, he came 'round. Afta I had done mosta tha hard work. He finished 'em off. Good fella. Shame wha happened ta his family. You boys tried ya best. Always knew tha 'bout ya Nelson."

Everyone always knew how good Foggy was. Everyone always told him, too. Well, except for Matt. Because, he's a fucking idiot. 

Inner checklist...stop being a fucking idiot, Matt. 

"Any chance Frank had let slip exactly who those guys were working for? Before, y'know, he finished, uhm, helping?"

Clearly, he didn't help enough. Because there was still more of them. Still more of them left out there in this shitfest of a twisted little world. That same little world Tilly clambered her way into, like the fucking tornado she is. That same little world that Matt actually breathed again inside of. That same little fucking world that fucking ripped her right out of his fucking arms and he didn't do a fucking god damn thing about. (No, fuck off God. Don't worry, confession is in a few days, fucking relax. Sins and hail maries and our father's...chill the fuck out.) 

So, fuck Frank. He didn't help. This was such a fucking bullshit idea. How the hell did he let Foggy convince him this was a good idea? Frank doesn't help. He's just as useless as Matt's own damn self. 

"Tha boys all used ta talk 'bout some big shot just outside a city lines. Goofy lookin' fella. Came 'round once or twice. Always gave him tha rotted out slabs a cow. Serves 'im right. Carryin' on with business like that. City was a mess 'fore that red guy showed up. Been missin' him these past months. Streets startin' ta pick up their nonsense again when he ain't 'round here no more." 

Well, sure, just lay on the guilt. Slap it right on top of Matt's own personal Shittiest Dirtiest Tipsy Gonna Fucking Fall Over Pile Of His Own Fucking Life...let the whole fucking thing come crumbling down, trapping Matt under the weight of all he's been drinking himself stupidly numb over...just to forget for two fucking seconds. Just lay it right there, just like that. 

"You got a name?"

White knuckles clenching around the top of his cane. The fucking stupid cane he didn't even fucking need. But, all these fucking fools all needed to believe he did. So, he just kept burying who he really is deeper and deeper. Those bullshit sunglasses, so no one can see his eyes. Who the fuck cares?? That stupid pretentious business suit...starchy as shit tie and overbleached button ups...Matt didn't need them. What the fuck was he gonna do for anybody sitting behind a crappy side of the road desk in some damp, dingey office space that was too overpriced but overhyped due to some fucking aliens busting through that bullshit sky he can't even barely remember what fucking color it was anymore. 

Yeah, he remembers when he believed in the law. When he believed the law would always win in the end. Justice would be found, and those guilty would pay. Except...except, until recently, he knew he never fully, truly believed that. No. Ever since that little scared girl. Crying and cowering in the corner of her bedroom because her father wouldn't keep his hands off of her. No, not her father. Her foster father. And not just some girl. That was Tilly.

Fuck. 

He couldn't save her then. Why did he really think he could actually have saved her now?

"Goes by tha name a Saul." 

Matt could barely hear Foggy's voice yelling after him as Matt made his way out the door, down the sidewalk. Enough papers and files and fingerless butchers. 

Matt knew he needed to find Frank, and, well, he's known where Frank had been hiding this entire time. Sixteen blocks, three alleyways, four fire escape ladders that had been begging for better days decades ago, and one similar rooftop access door like his own, before the same eerily soothing aroma of gun powder, dried blood and dog food reached his nose. 

"Long time, Red."


	26. Because He Was Daredevil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took forever to get out. I'm hoping I can promise it won't take that long for the next chapter.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

Tilly tried to lick her lips. Really bad move. Apparently, her face was smooshed really far into the dirty floor than she thought. Yup. She licked up a whole bunch of disgusting floor crap particle things. What fucking day was it? Day too fucking many, that's how fucking many!

Nope. Thinking. Hurts too much. Gonna just skip right over that fucking ridiculous task right now. Delirious hallucinations...now THAT sounds like a fucking grand 'ol time.

For imagination purposes, make sure to pretend that Tilly is tapping her shaky finger against her chin in a studious thinking like motion. Makes it seem more legit, and less 'Tilly is absolutely fucking losing it'. 

Shhhh...she totally is. But, don't tell Tilly. And definitely don't tell Matty. 

Matty. 

Wonder what he's up to? Wonder what he'd be like drunk? Wait, just wait, totally relevant to the current situation...because drunk is pretty close to how Tilly feels right now. Except, well, except for the awesome care-free feeling of being drunk and knowing the feeling will actually pass in a few hours. No, this weird drunk-but-not-drunk feeling won't pass tomorrow, since Tilly has no fucking foreseeable future outside of this fucking room. Wait. Back up. Matt being drunk. Wow. What must THAT be like?! Hungover, even! That would probably be an awesome conversation between the two of them, right?! Waking up in that obnoxiously comfy bed of his, all nestled up under that way too warm blanket, with Matt's limbs wrapped all around her. Seriously, guy's like a fucking octopus! 

She'd squeeze her eyes shut, wincing from the way too fucking turned up sunlight, draping her arm across her eyes in the most overly dramatic way possible. C'mon, Mr. Sun...dial it down a fucking notch, or six! 

"Matt! You seriously can't even begin to know how much this fucking sunlight hurts! Why does everything have to be so bright?! It's like my eyes are being scorched right out of their fucking socket!! Can I borrow your broke as shit eyes for a few hours? Please??!!" 

And, yup, Matt would just groan, well, she would be pretty sure he groaned, the deep rumbling kind, so she could feel it across the mattress. She knew he knew she didn't wear her aids while she slept. She had that going for her, at least. One less sense to fucking scratch at her deep rooted nerves. And, according to her very out there imagination, at the moment, her Inside Her Head Matt would beg for her equally broke as shit ears as his eyes, tilting his head just enough so she could read his lips, after having weakly tapped on her forearm so she would uncover her eyes to look at him. 

"I can't hear you over all of these fucking birds chirping away! Seriously, why do we have every fucking window open in this room? Are they on every single window sill from here to fucking Canada?! And really, you're voice is NOT helping the situation at all! Do you have to fucking yell?"

And Tilly would slowly slide her arm just above her eyes, hesitating before re-covering them so she could, 1) regret the decision of having uncovered them in the first place from the re-intrusion of the fucking bullshit sunlight, and 2) narrow eye murder glare the shit out of Matt. 

And she would grumble. And then Matt would grumble. And they would, hand in imaginary hand, stumble into the fucking stoneage and revert to using grunts and whines to communicate from that moment on because words were too difficult to form and even worse to focus in on. And she knew he would grumble and pitch some little, or massive, hissy fit about being hungover. Because, Matt is just that kind of person. Adorably grumpy. 

Adorable? What? No. Wow. Delirious is definitely appropriate...

The door to the room swung open, the breeze from the movement fluttered across Tilly's hair. Hey, it might be super greasy and clumpy, but it still fucking moved, okay? Tilly flicked her eyes over to where some Big Ass New Guy was standing, silhouetted, kind of, by the Light of Freedom behind him. And he was just standing there, smirking. Smirking?! The fucking nerve...

Oh, but what does he have in his hand? The liquid of the fucking gods! A water bottle. Filled. Cap still whatever it's called when it's still melted together to that little thing tabby thing along the spouty thingy. Shut up. Words are difficult. Tilly rolled onto her not-as-fully bruised side to properly look at Big Ass New Guy. The man swung his arm back, underarm throwing the bottle towards Tilly. The bottle flipped over itself as it floated through the air, landing on it's side against Tilly's, now, exposed ribcage. It took a few moments for the pain to spread, tingling down even to her toes. Asshole had to have known she had at least three broken ribs on that side. 

Uhm, rude.

But, okay, maybe she didn't really care too much as she struggled to open the top, twisting with her whole arm, desperate to get that fucking tasteless deliciousness down her fucking throat as soon as fucking possible. 

That first mouthful was, probably, the most perfect, most amazing, most beautiful moment in her entire shortish life. And as much as she wanted to down the entire fucking bottle like she was at her first fucking college party that she absolutely crashed because she sure as shit didn't attend any fucking higher education type school, and tasted her first beer, even though she was definitely only 17 years old at the time. Yeah, no, she had to dig her nails into her thigh to force some kind of restraint over herself. 

The Big Ass New Guy tossed a granola bar towards Tilly, smirking wider when it hit Tilly square off the nose, in one of the worst 'boops' of all time. Maybe not ALL time, but still...

Even more fucking rude. 

And, that awesome restraint she had over herself? Yeah, totally out the non-existent window in that fucking windowless room. Don't even ask her what flavor it was. She inhaled it way too quickly, and nope, no fucking shame whatsoever about it. Wait! Aftertaste. Chocolate chip. Aww, so thoughtful. Some chocolate to butter her up. Classic move...

The Big Ass New Guy strolled over to her, yes, literal strolling happened, and crouched down in front of her. He gently pushed two fingers underneath Tilly's chin and softly lifted it up towards his face, holding her slightly off blue eyed gaze into his creepy as shit green glare. Still, with that smirk, though. Completely unsettling. And awkward as fuck. 

He mouthed, slowly, "Time to go."

As much as she hated to admit, she did kind of appreciate the slow talking and extra pronounciation of his words, but the bone chilling feeling Tilly got from his choice of words sent a very obvious shiver across her skin, causing the man to smirk even wider. Seriously, he keeps doing that, his fucking cheeks are gonna split in fucking half. Cut it out.

"Where are you taking me?"

Tilly's voice was raw, she could feel it in the way her throat stretched and protested with every forced syllable and vowel. 

The man brought his thumb up, softly caressing Tilly's cheek, causing another shiver to rip across her limbs.

"Somewhere more comfortable."

Tilly was almost positive that the guy was lying about the whole comfort thing. She may not be the best judge of character, or of anything, at the moment, but she was pretty sure of that. Like seventy-nine percent sure. 

The Big Ass New Guy grabbed her, way too fucking forecfully, around her upper arms, lifting her up into the air without a speck of grace or that so-called comfort he was just going on about. Her knees wobbled and her ribs fucking screamed at her, internally and metaphorically, of course. Before she could really grasp her new higher up point of view, she was being led out that same door that kept her locked away. 

She tried to take in her surroundings, but the lack of fucking everything washed over her, and her digestive skills weren't exactly at the top of its game currently, and soon enough, she saw darkness, black swirling in from her peripherals and the world closing itself off. 

'Hell of a time to pass out, Till.'

Shit. 

\--------------------------------

Matt paced back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, across Frank's apartment. Matt could hear Foggy shifting uncomfortably in the furthest corner. He could hear the soft grunts of Frank's dog in the opposing. And he could hear the annoyed sighs from Frank, in between the fluttering of papers and whatever various weapons Frank had laying around. Matt's nose was almost overwhelmed with the terrible stench of gun powder, lead, dog food and dog hair, and the very obvious collection of random people's blood. At least 8 different people. Matt stopped counting after that. 

"Red, if you don't stop pacing, I'm gonna have to shoot one of your legs out."

Matt stopped mid-step. He heard Foggy's heart twitch, fluttering in its already quickened pace, probably more than half believing Frank would absolutely shoot Matt without hesitation. Matt turned his head, letting his best glaring face rip across the room and land on Frank. Or somewhere in the general vicinity. And judging by the chuckle that trickled out of Frank, Matt wasn't completely sure his facial expression came across as 'shut the fuck up' and maybe looked a little more like he was just really constipated. 

Whatever.

"Did you find it, yet?"

Frank dropped his hands onto the table top he was hovering over, the fluttering of papers pausing. 

"Do you know how many piece of shit drug dealers I've dealt with the past year? Give me a fucking minute. I told you I'd find it."

Matt's hands clenched and unclenched by his side, shaking every few clenches, wringing out his fingers and allowing some of the blood to reach back to the tips and nail beds. He could feel, and hear, his heart thumping away inside of his chest. He was even almost certain Frank and Foggy could actually hear it with how harsh it was bashing against his sternum. 

He took a moment, at least, to appreciate the irony of the entire situation. Foggy and Frank and him all stuck in one room together, attempting to work cohesively, without someone ending up bloodied or in a screaming match. The last time the three of them were even partially involved, Matt and Foggy's relationship crumbled so fucking quickly, the term whiplash didn't even do it justice. But, that irony definitely wasn't hitting Foggy the same way it had hit Matt. No, Matt could actually taste the sweat oozing out of Foggy's pores, tasting the swelling rise of anxiety and uncertainty that had washed over Foggy from the very moment they stepped into the apartment. 

"Lenny told you the guy's name was Saul, right?"

Frank's gruff voice broke Matt out of his odd memory waltz, rushing and crashing him back into his warped reality. 

"Uhm, yeah. Yeah, uhm, yeah, that's uhm, that's what he told us."

Matt had to actually pull himself back from laughing a little bit at Foggy's nervousness. Yes, he really was trying to work on NOT being such a dick to his friend. He was. Honest. But, well, maybe a few dick-ish thoughts popped up from time to time. And yes, he absolutely internally struggled with not outwardly cracking up laughing at that perfectly placed innuendo. What? He can be funny! 

Frank huffed something between an exasperated sigh and a low chuckle in response to Foggy's lack of nerves. 

"Lenny, huh? The one missing the fingers, right?"

Matt was pretty sure Frank had held up a hand and wiggled his fully intact digits around. 

"Uhm, yeah...yes. The butcher shop. That one. Said...he said you, uhm, helped him out."

Frank sat back in his chair, the old metal of it creaking under his weight. 

"Yeah, I did. That was a good day. Very productive."

Matt definitely lost all his self control on that one. As much as he needed Frank's help, he still was at a very distinct crossroads between what he hoped he stood for and what Frank very clearly stood for. Matt's own moral whatever was marred, dingey at best, especially with what happened on that rooftop however long ago. But, the circumstances were different. 

Well, where they? Matt's judgement had been clouded, a warm blanket pulled over his black and white decisions about what was right and wrong, puddled within the doe-eyed vision of what he could only pretend to understand as something kind of like love. And Elektra pulled at and saw straight through to the parts of Matt he had thought he had kept hidden from the rest of the world. She challenged him. She made him stronger. She enhanced that dimmed light buried deep inside of him. She gave him a sense of purpose. As tangled and twisted as their relationship was, she made him feel alive in ways nobody else had or has ever come close to.

Except for Tilly. 

And as strong of a desire Matt had had up on that rooftop to kill for Elektra's life, and then, ultimately, avenge her death...Matt felt it just as strongly for this unknown enigma named Tilly. 

It wasn't until that moment that Matt fully allowed himself to accept that he would absolutely kill anything or anyone that stood in the way of his revenge mission to rescue Tilly from whatever hell she was trapped in. And so much of him felt that it had all to do because of who he was, who he had let the city know himself as...even without knowing who he actually was.

This was all because he was Daredevil, and until Tilly was safely wrapped inside of his arms again, Matt wouldn't stop until all those involved paid their price. 

"Saul Saltzman. Salty. Runs outta the warehouses just outside the city lines, along the docks. Real scum of the shitbags, and that's even being nice."

Matt wrung out his fingers one last time before letting them curl in and clench into a tight fist. He could feel the blood boiling inside of his own skin and feel as his entire body vibrated with a rage he had never felt before. Never, not to this degree. And he was sure Frank could tell. Matt could feel the smirk on Frank's lips as he finally stood from the table, grabbing his jacket and his entire arsenal of weapons. 

"So, you boys up for a night time joyride?"


	27. Twenty Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long to get out! It had been mostly written months ago, and I had just been having trouble finishing this chapter.
> 
> No Tilly this time.
> 
> Hmm.
> 
> ((Also, the first chapter of this was posted one year ago, today. So, yay! *awkwardly dances*! Thanks to everyone that has stuck around for this random little story of mine that started out as a little comic strip for my superhero loving niece who has hearing aids/hearing loss and couldn't understand why MCU Hawkeye didn't have hearing aids in. It, then, took on a life of it's own! So, thanks for hanging out even though I really suck at updates. That's the ADHD in me. Consistency is NOT a strong trait for me...!))

Frank looked Red over, really looked him over, once they left Lenny's shop. He took note of the wildman scruff along his jawline, the dark, deep purple...damn near bordering black...bags engulfing his worry filled eyes. There were indented lines creased into his forehead, and Frank, for a moment, actually almost feared they would be permanent. Red had even abandoned the nice pressed suits, sporting a wrung out long sleeve shirt and sweatpants that, well, Frank wasn't gonna lie, looked comfy as shit. 

It struck him as odd, this very outward, physical reaction Red was having to some random chick. Frank was always under the suspicion that Red...Matt...Daredevil... whoever the fuck he wanted to be called these days...operated solo. Aside from the ninja army leading chick from months back, which Frank was still having a hard time wrapping his head around _that_ relationship, a frayed friendship with Foggy...who, for some bullshit reason, was still sticking by Red's side at the moment, and a very strained relationship-ish thing with Page...Red never seemed keen on keeping personal attachments to anyone, or anything. And, even when Red was having a shitty fucking day, he kept his composure... Okay, well, maybe not completely. Red definitely had a temper, and knew how to throw a pretty violent tantrum to make even the worst of Frank Junior's Terrible Two's look like a damn near cakewalk.

So, Frank was still trying to work it out how this Tilly chick, pretty sure that was her name, fit into Red's world...and just why he gave as many fucks as he did. Frank was assuming there was some very potent Catholic guilt swirling the drain of that undercurrent of a shitstorm, but he just didn't know exactly what. 

"Hey, Red. You mind filling me on this Tilly chick? What's so damn special about her that you've decided to rip Hell's Kitchen apart to find her?"

Red had stopped pacing that same damn fucking stretch of linear track marks in the ground. 

Frank castle was not a patient man. Well, okay, Frank Castle USED to be a patient man. Teaching his daughter to walk. Patience. Teaching his son to say "dada" over "mama". Patience. Forgetting to wash the dishes in the sink and listen to his wife yell at him about it for ten minutes. Patience. Even when the military stripped and butchered all the parts of Frank Castle before putting him back together as the soldier he heroically became, Frank still maintained his patience. 

It was that patience that allowed his finger to rest steadily on the trigger of his gun, eye focused on the front eyesight, his breath...the inhale and exhale slowly as his finger depressed the trigger and he could slowly feel the tension just before the soft click and the bullet discharging the barrel. It was that patience that kept his finger still on the trigger, slowly letting the tension release and the trigger to dislodge itself from its firing position underneath his fingertips and his fingers extending back out into the forward pointing position, to feel the heat escaping from around the barrel as the gun powder residue flitters all around him. 

It was that same patience that kept his own hands wrapped securely around a person's neck, squeezing and gripping in just the right way to watch the life seep out of the person's eyes, watching the petechiae settle in, zigzagging around the irises that lost all their colorful soul. 

Frank had a vast array of patience over the years. But, watching Matt pace back and forth, back and forth, back and forth...Frank couldn't help but wonder just how much patience he would need to drain the life out of those sad as shit eyeballs of Red's...

"Knock it the fuck off, Red."

Matt stopped, feet scuffing across the hardwood as he froze in place. The amount of force in which Matt whipped his head around, Frank wondered at what velocity and speed a person must achieve for there to be an obvious concern for whiplash. They stared at one another, or well, Frank stared at Matt...and Matt glared in his general direction. Frank, at that moment, was almost relieved Red couldn't see him...because the imaginary daggers that were sent his way was enough for Frank to swallow thickly. 

Matt growled, literally growled, and stormed off, swinging the door open fast enough to send the doorknob into the drywall behind it, lodging it into place, as he stomped off down the hallway.

Frank sighed, dropping his hands on top of the messy table, shaking his head in both frustration and disbelief. He heard a shuffle from behind him and remembered Foggy was still there. Frank, without turning his head, mumbled under his breath into the tension filled apartment.

"So, Nelson, you gonna tell me what the deal with this chick is?"

\----------------------------------------

The smell of the church was familiar. The dust and remnants of cheap wine and stale bread filtered in through Matt's nose, grounding him in a way nothing else could. Well, nothing else, except for Tilly. Matt sighed, dropping his head low enough for his chin to hit his chest. He had long since abandoned his suit and ties, opting for the soft comfort of sweats and worn long sleeved shirts. Anything to soothe his mind from his strung out senses.

"Been quite a while, Matthew."

Matt had been stuck inside of his head and his stuttering thoughts that he hadn't even heard Father Lantom settle into the pew behind him. It was just another harsh reminder that Matt had been losing touch with the world that he had so expertly navigated through since his accident so many years ago.

It reminded him of all the ways he was becoming the failure Tilly never believed he was.

Matt bite down on his tongue, feeling the sharp sting and the metallic tinge of blood as his tooth pierced down on the coarse surface of his tongue, biting down on letting that haunting thought slip out of his teeth. The moments of shared silence slipped between the two of them, when Matt heard Father Lantom shift and the rustle of fabric as he stood up behind him. He placed a comforting hand onto Matt's shoulder, fingers squeezing gently in a silent sign of support.

"It's early. How about another one of our lattes?"

Matt smirked, a foreign feeling stretching over his lips, as he stood, following Father Lantom to the back of the church. 

\---------------------------------------

Matt shifted on the metal folding chair, body temperature quickly working to warm the cold metal digging into his backside. A strong aroma flittered into his nose, another soothing and familiar scent warming him from the inside out. 

"Matthew. Of all the scrapes and bruises I have seen on you over the years, this look, like distraught pull against you, is the worst I have ever seen in you. Even more than...well, more than last year."

Matt shifted in his seat. The metal creaked and cried under the weight, conforming itself to keep supporting Matt under the weight of the world digging down on his shoulders. Matt had come to see Father Lantom once after Elektra had died. Once. To find some sort of repentence from what he had done, only to realize he felt no remorse, and hadn't begged for any forgiveness. 

He, often times, found himself wondering, as of late, if this all was because of that moment. If he was being punished for the ultimate sin of finding relief in the immorality of his actions. 

"It's my fault."

Matt heard the soft grind of porcelain against porcelain and the quiet slurp of liquid as Father Lantom took a sip of his latte, glass clinking against one another as the small cup was returned back to the tiny plate on the table.

"Matthew, you know I can't sense things like you. But, I also know that whatever it is you're grasping on to, isn't truly your fault."

Matt let his fingertips trace over the rim of his untouched latte in front of him. His body, his mind, craved the caffeine, but he just couldn't find it in himself to take a first sip. His stomach was churning too much with the notion that, as smart of a man as Father Lantom truly was, he was an absolute fucking moron if he thought none of this was his own fault.

"They came for me. I'm the reason why they have her."

Matt could feel the warmth of Father Lantom's body heat as he leaned in closer to Matt, could hear the croak of the metal chair as the muscles and bones shifted, and Matt could hear the rise in tempo of Father Lantom's heartbeat. 

"Have who, Matthew?"

Matt let the name float around inside of his head a few times, pressing the calming effect it had on him into his every nerve. Tilly. Tilly. The way her guarded unguardedness rushed over Matt those first few tense encounters. The way her gentle fingertips glided across his skin when he hadn't known he'd been craving the touch. The way her voice, her breath, the echo of static from her ears...how it all sang the song Matt's soul had been screaming to sing for so long...she was the words his heart had been needing to finally sing it aloud. And, he fucked it all up.

This was all of his fault. And he couldn't do anything to find her. He was useless. Just as useless as the first week after the accident. A world he knew and needed ripped from him, and he had to fight so hard to find his way again. He had thought he finally found his footing when he found Elektra again. And then, she was ripped out from his reach. And the darkness consumed him one more time. He thought the emptiness was where he would always end up, where he truly belonged.

Until that heartbeat crashed into his head and wrapped itself around everything Matt had been without his entire life.

Tilly. Tilly. Tilly

His tongue swelled in his mouth, holding on to those five letters, scared to let them out, fearing if he did, it would break the brittle foundation holding up his fracturing belief that, maybe, just maybe, everyone was right and this all wasn't his fault. He was scared that if he said her name, it would finally breach the invisible line of truth and hope. She would really still be missing instead of just waiting in the unseen shadows, heartbeat slowed and ears silenced as she watched Matt with her quietness Matt still was finding himself searching for since she's been gone, just waiting for her to crash back into his world. 

"Matthew..."

Matt clenched his jaw. His fingers stilled along the smooth porcelain rim. His sense clouded over as he buried those five letters back down into their safety deep inside of himself, held back from the cruel hands of the world still trying to rip her from him. He stood quickly, metal legs scraping across the hardwood floors. He could faintly hear the rise in beats of Father Lantom's heart, even as he walked away from the still seated priest.

"Matthew!"

The craah of the metal door jam was muffled, even with the shrillness and concerned voice calling out to him, even under the rush of Matt's own blood pulsing through his veins. 

No. Nobody was going to rip her away from him. He was going to find her, if it was the very last thing his body ever did. 

He was going to find her. 

Tilly.  
Tilly.  
Tilly.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi - rancidrat86.tumblr.com


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